


show me where my armour ends, show me where my skin begins

by softeldritch



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (i went full in with the Sad on this one i had a good time), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Dark Fantasy, M/M, Violence, Wingfic, Winnipeg Jets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeldritch/pseuds/softeldritch
Summary: The beast has only been seen after dark, so they set out at sunset. Night has long since fallen, the last streaks of sunlight gone from the wispy clouds. Now the sky is black, scattered with stars, the moon still shining bright and almost full. Snow falls around them, slow and lazy.Patrik is suddenly reminded of the stories the knights used to tell, back when they were all mostly squires and Patrik would sneak away from his formal training to playfight with them.They always started on a cold, icy night in the woods.





	show me where my armour ends, show me where my skin begins

**Author's Note:**

> this all began bc i’d been thinking about wingfic for a solid few weeks and i missed writing fantasy,, also i once had the passing thought that nikolaj looks like a bird of prey during games and the thought has _haunted_ me since.
> 
> anyway. please enjoy.
> 
> (title from _pluto_ by sleeping at last)

As a child, Patrik was always told one thing, over and over; to never go too deep into the woods. To never travel so far that the moon disappeared from the sky, that frost began climbing the rough bark of the trees and clinging to soft black needles. His unending series of caretakers, keepers, and guardians all gave him the same warning.

_There are Dark things in the woods_.

Now he leads a hunting party into those same woods, wrapped in furs and armed with iron and silver, on the order of his father. Princes are supposed to protect their people, after all.

For the past month, some kind of monster has been terrorizing the kingdom. It started small; killing chickens and sheep in tiny villages on the outskirts, leaving them bloodied and half-eaten by ravens in the snow. Then the hunters started seeing it when they travelled into the woods. The accounts are all different—black claws, sharp teeth, eyes glowing like a cat’s—but most of them have one thing in common. A pale body and big, black wings.

It hasn’t killed anyone yet, but one of the hunters came back with long, oozing claw marks down his arm. So Patrik and his knights have been sent into the woods to deal with it. The last thing they need right now is for the monster to get more confident.

The beast has only been seen after dark, so they set out at sunset. Night has long since fallen, the last streaks of sunlight gone from the wispy clouds. Now the sky is black, scattered with stars, the moon still shining bright and almost full. Snow falls around them, slow and lazy.

Patrik is suddenly reminded of the stories the knights used to tell, back when they were all mostly squires and Patrik would sneak away from his formal training to playfight with them. 

They always started on a cold, icy night in the woods.

He shivers.

“Let’s move a little faster,” he calls to the rest of the knights, digging his heels into his horse’s flanks to spur her into a trot. “The sooner we find it, the sooner we can go back.” Even if the knights aren’t showing it, Patrik knows they probably feel the same urge he does; to turn their horses around and sprint back out of the forest and into the safety and warmth of the city’s walls.

Instead, he ignores that long-forgotten prey instinct and keeps moving forward. 

The further they travel, the taller the trees seem to get, long black pines reaching into an equally black sky. Patrik can still see moonlight flickering through the needles. He keeps an eye out for that, because the second it starts to fade is the second they need to turn tail and run.

He doesn’t know how long has passed before he hears something—a flutter of wings. Patrik stills, pulling his horse to a stop, and behind him the rest of the knights do too. 

“We’re on foot from here,” he says, dismounting. Snow crunches under his boots, and he grabs the lantern hanging from his horse’s saddle. “Stay close.”

The knights follow suit. Patrik keeps a hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he leads them further into the forest, straining to see past the darkness and slowly whirling snow. He doesn’t know what they’re going to find—if they find anything at all—but he knows it’ll be dangerous. This far into the woods, everything is dangerous.

A cold wind starts blowing, icy snow stinging Patrik’s cheeks. He shivers again, teeth clenched together. Can’t be much further now.

Patrik hears rustling wings again. Then, distantly, the shrill caw of a raven.

He brings a hand up, clenches it into a fist, and the knights all stop and extinguish their lanterns. Then, alone, Patrik keeps moving forward. This is part of the plan. Maybe the dumbest part of the plan, but a creature from the Dark probably wouldn’t make itself known in front of a whole party of knights. If Patrik goes ahead alone, he might draw it out.

The trees sway in the wind, wood creaking softly. Feathered wings flutter around him, and the flickering orange light of his lantern catches on shiny black eyes—ravens. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, perched on the trees around him. All watching as he walks.

A chill that has nothing to do with the frigid weather creeps up Patrik’s spine and tingles at the nape of his neck. 

Before him, the woods open into a small, empty clearing. Patrik swallows, steeling his resolve and marching into the open. He drops his lantern on the very edge of the treeline. The glass cracks, the light fizzles and flickers out, and Patrik fights every instinct he has as he walks into the centre of the empty clearing, lit only by moonlight.

A moment later, a shadow flashes across the sky.

Patrik jolts when it lands only a few steps in front of him. He keeps his chin high, though, staring at the beast as it crouches before him.

Apparently the accounts were right. Its massive black wings are spread, the very tips of its feathers just barely brushing the snow. Then the creature begins to stand, and Patrik realizes that it almost looks like a person. It has a pale, human body, clothed in loose black pants tapered at its bare ankles; a tattered, sheer black cloak hangs from its shoulders, a hood keeping its features in shadow. Despite the winter, its chest and arms are bare.

Patrik watches, as the creature stands to its full height. Something twitches under his skin; without the wings, the creature is smaller than him. That seems strange, somehow.

It lifts slender, wiry arms. Claw-tipped fingers push back the hood, and suddenly Patrik’s staring into a face that’s alarmingly human.

“Go back,” the creature snarls, in a low, strangely accented voice. It has sharp, angular features and eyes that look almost silver in the moonlight and a head of soft, pale hair. “You don’t belong here.”

Patrik’s skin crawls. The beast is kind of beautiful.

He shoves that thought aside, and stands tall as he was always taught. “Why are you attacking my people?”

The creature narrows its eyes. “I’m not attacking anyone.”

Patrik’s hand tightens around the hilt of his sword. “You killed our livestock. You injured one of our hunters.”

The beast bares its teeth, and Patrik notices its canines, long and pointed like a cat’s. “Anyone I’ve hurt attacked me first.” It sneers, wings flaring wider. “And if your people leave animals out without protection, they shouldn’t be surprised when something kills them. I have my own animals to take care of.”

“If they attacked you, it’s because you were somewhere _you_ didn’t belong,” Patrik fires back. “Beasts don’t belong outside the Dark.”

Instead of responding, the beast just laughs. The sound sends shivers down Patrik’s spine—caught somewhere between human and animal, like the cackle of a raven. It stares at Patrik with silvery blue eyes, glowing in the moonlight. “What are you gonna do, human prince?” It takes a step closer, and its bare feet don’t sink into the snow the way Patrik’s boots have. “Kill me?”

Creatures from the Dark can’t be killed. Everyone knows that. Which is why Patrik hasn’t come here to kill it.

“No,” Patrik says honestly. Then he drops his hand from the hilt of his sword.

The creature’s eyes go wide seconds before an arrow whizzes past Patrik’s body and strikes it right in the heart. It staggers back, wings fluttering, hands twitching up towards the arrow shaft piercing it right in the heart. “What—”

Another arrow, right next to the first. The creature gasps, hands splaying over its chest, fingers fumbling at the arrows. Then a final arrow flies past Patrik and hits it in the stomach, and the creature falls to its knees with a quiet whimper.

“Those are pure iron,” Patrik says. He unsheathes his sword, walking the extra distance to the creature as his knights pour in from the darkness of the forest. The creature is hunched over, wings frozen and trembling, head bowed. Patrik puts the tip of his sword under the creature’s chin, tips up its head until it’s staring up at him with wide eyes and black blood leaking from its nose and mouth. “We’re going to put you somewhere you can’t cause any more trouble.”

He holds the beast’s eyes as the knights grab its unmoving arms, bringing them behind its back and wrapping them up in cuffs infused with silver. They do the same to its bare ankles. It stares at Patrik right back, eyes wide and gleaming with fear and fury.

It doesn’t look away until the knights are grabbing its wings, folding them together and wrapping them up with thick iron chains. Then it glances to the side, trying and failing to turn its head, mouth moving even though no sound comes out. It looks panicked, and Patrik—

Patrik sheathes his sword and looks away. 

They bind the creature to the back of one of the horses. Patrik doesn’t watch as his knights are doing it, just waits with an eye on the rest of the forest and the ravens watching them from the trees. Nothing attacks, though, and when his knights are done he climbs astride his horse and starts the long journey out of the woods.

Patrik breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees the beginnings of sunrise filtering in through the pines. They made it back home.

Few people are out at dawn in the winter, especially in the farmlands outside the walls of the city. Still, Patrik notices a few eyes on him and his knights—and on the creature bound to the back of a horse, paralyzed by iron and silver. He ignores most of them and leads his party through the gates of the city, nodding at the armoured guards standing at the gate when they dip into a bow.

In the courtyard outside the castle, Patrik pulls to a stop. He slips off his saddle and marches over to the horse carrying their bounty, unknotting the rope tied to its reins. “Sami, come with me,” he says, and Sami dismounts his horse quickly. “The rest of you, bring the horses back to the stables and get some sleep.”

He takes the horse’s reins and begins walking towards the castle. He doesn’t need to look back to know Sami has fallen into step behind him.

Someone must’ve seen them coming in and sent word, because Patrik’s father is already in the empty great hall when Patrik leads the horse inside. He’s sitting in his throne but stands as soon as he sees what they have strapped to the back of the horse. His guard all follow him as he strides down the stone steps, hands on their swords.

“Father,” Patrik says, dipping his head in respect. “We found the beast.”

* * *

After delivering the beast to his father, Patrik returns to his room and sleeps into the evening. He wakes to the sound of knocking on his door and his manservant quietly coming in to deliver him a very late breakfast. Patrik orders him to draw a bath while he’s eating and then dismisses him.

The water is still warm when he sinks into it, and Patrik breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s been in his bed since dawn, with a fire roaring in the fireplace, but there’s still cold lingering in his fingertips and on his cheeks.

Probably has something to do with the fact that the cold he experienced wasn’t regular cold. Patrik shivers thinking about it.

But it’s done. They have the beast locked away, chained up somewhere beneath the castle in iron and silver to keep it weak, and Patrik can go back to focusing on the problems facing their kingdom that _don’t_ come from dark, ancient forests brimming with magic.

Which isn’t really much of an improvement, but Patrik would much rather face an enemy he can actually _kill_.

With a lack of anything else to do Patrik polishes and sharpens his sword, even though he didn’t use it. The very tip of the blade is still frosted, where Patrik had it against the creature’s skin, and a few smears of black blood have dried on the flat of the blade. He ignores the image that flashes in his head—the beast, forced onto its knees, glancing back at its bound wings with an almost pleading look of terror in its silvery blue eyes—and polishes his sword until any trace of frost or black blood is gone.

By the time he’s done the night sky is black, the clouds covering any stars. Patrik stokes the fire a little bit, then climbs into bed and closes his eyes.

He dreams of fire. Of flames dancing along swaying pines, burning debris falling to the snow and sizzling into smoke. Of his own body catching fire like a pyre.

“_No_—” Patrik bolts upright, mouth snapping shut around a cry that barely feels like his own. His bare torso is slick with sweat, his sheets drenched with it. The fear from his dream is still fading as he sits there and breathes, fingers curled into tight fists.

Just a dream. Or a nightmare. Patrik closes his eyes, slows his breathing, and falls back onto his pillow. 

* * *

The dream comes again and again, and on the fifth night Patrik wakes up screaming.

* * *

He’s exhausted and irritable through training with the knights. Enough that none of them comment on it, even though they’ve never held back from a little friendly ribbing before, despite him being the crown prince. Then he struggles through a strategy meeting with his father, discussing plans for a tentative alliance proposal with the kingdom to the south.

Then, late in the night when most of the castle has gone to sleep, Patrik grabs a hooded cloak and his sword and heads down into the depths of the castle.

One of the benefits of being prince is that nobody questions him. Even the guard posted outside the dungeon doesn’t ask where he’s going, just moves aside and lets him into the empty dungeons. Patrik moves through them quickly, heading for the iron door on the far end. It opens to a narrow, winding staircase of stone bricks and Patrik grabs one of the torches next to the door before venturing down the stairs.

As he descends, he feels a chill. Then he notices the frost creeping along the walls.

Right. You can take a creature out of the cold Dark, but you can’t take it from the creature.

Patrik steps off the stairs, turns a corner, and immediately freezes.

There it is. The beast, hunched over and facing away from Patrik, the bars of its cell frosted over. In the torchlight Patrik can see it a little better, see the wings curled around its body like a shield. They seem black until the flickering light catches on them, each tar-black feather gleaming with blues and greens and violets, like iridescent beetle wings. Each feather quivers and ruffles as Patrik takes a step closer.

“Go away,” the creature snarls.

Patrik narrows his eyes. “This is my castle. I go where I want.” He steps closer again, holding the torch out for a better look. All he can see of the creature are its wings, and a chain pooled near its side. “I have a question.”

The creature scoffs. “I have nothing to say to you, human prince.”

Patrik bristles. “I have a name.”

“So do I,” the creature snaps. It sounds almost human in its frustration. “But I doubt you’ll call me by it, so I’ll call you what _you_ are.” Its wings flutter. “I could call you a lot of things, they’d all be true. Consider yourself lucky I landed on prince.”

Something in its tone strikes a chord in Patrik’s chest, discordant and echoing. He steps closer, enough that he could reach out and touch the frosted grate. This close, he can see that the beast is trembling, tiny tremors shaking each sleek feather. 

“What’s your name?” Even he’s surprised by how soft his voice is.

The creature goes still. Achingly slow, its wings unfurl, spreading as far as they can until the tips of its feathers touch the walls of the cell. Its wingspan is huge, probably at least three times across as Patrik is tall, and in the cramped space of the cell it can only open its wings halfway. Patrik’s shoulders ache at the sight.

Then its wings lift, and its face comes into view as it peers at Patrik from beneath them. Torchlight makes the angles of its face even sharper, its eyes bright blue without moonlight to make them silver. “What do you want?” it asks slowly, voice trembling. “Why are you asking?”

Patrik shrugs. He doesn’t have much of an answer. “I’m curious.”

“I’m not here to satisfy your _curiosity_,” the creature spits. Patrik steps closer and his torchlight glints off something on its face—it takes him a second to realize it’s ice, trailing down the creature’s face in frozen tear tracks. His heart goes cold.

He shakes away the feeling. “Answer my questions, then.”

The creature makes an offended, wounded noise and turns back, wings folding around it again. “Fuck off.”

Patrik curls a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Not until you tell me why I’m having nightmares.”

The creature is silent. Then it laughs humourlessly, wings shaking with it. “You have no idea what I am, do you.”

“A creature from the Dark,” Patrik responds. It’s almost instinct.

“You say that like we’re all the same. Not everything made of magic is some terrible monster, you idiot.” 

Awkwardly, the creature turns. Its wings are huge and unwieldy in such a small space, but eventually it manages to face Patrik properly. It’s wearing the same clothing it was when Patrik captured it, and with its chest bared Patrik can see the arrow wounds have disappeared completely. 

In the light, Patrik can see its face better; it really does look almost human, with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw and soft, wheat-coloured hair. But its eyes are glowing in the torchlight, and its hair glints with silvery frost.

And now, Patrik can see the iron collar around its neck, connected to a long chain bolted to the floor.

“Do you know what the _Valravn_ is?” It cocks its head to the side, peering at Patrik like a bird of prey. “Or have you all forgotten everything?”

Patrik’s hand tightens on his sword. The creature tracks the tiny movement with wary eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not a monster,” the creature says, in a deadly, soft voice. “I’m a harbinger. A being of dreams and prophecy.” Slowly, it gets to its feet. Then it starts walking towards the bars—towards Patrik—with steps too elegant for a chained creature. “The Valravn only shows up as a warning of death.” 

It steps right up to the grate, hands curling around the bars. Black claws clink against the frosted metal. Patrik stands frozen, staring wide-eyed at the creature as it looks defiantly, challengingly up at him.

“If you’re having dreams,” the creature says acidly, “that only means you have more of a connection to magic than you thought you did.”

Something inside Patrik twinges at that. He curls his shaking hand tighter around the hilt of his sword. “Shut up.”

The creature sneers, lip curling to reveal pointed canines. “Or what?”

Patrik unsheathes his sword almost without thinking, lifting it to the beast’s throat so fast it jolts. Then they both just stand there, the tip of Patrik’s sword pressed against the creature’s throat, their eyes locked together. “You did something to me,” Patrik says, ignoring the feeling of cold dread creeping up his spine. “Get rid of it.”

The creature blinks at him. Then it shakes its head, hands uncurling from the metal bars as it steps away from Patrik’s blade. “Whatever dreams you’re having, I didn't give them to you.” It retreats into the shadows of the cell, away from the flickering torchlight. “You took them from _me_, and now you have to deal with it.”

Then it turns and sits back down and all Patrik sees are its wings, curled around its body like a cloak.

Patrik stares, mouth open. “I wasn’t done talking to you,” he says eventually.

The creature says nothing.

Being disobeyed is a new feeling. Patrik glares at the creature’s wings, wanting to march inside the cell and—he’s not sure, actually, but he wants to do _something_. Force the creature just to _listen_ to him, at least. But he can’t. He doesn’t.

Instead he loudly sheathes his sword and heads back up the stairs, leaving the creature alone in the dark. 

The guard doesn’t look at him as he walks past, hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. Patrik climbs the stairs to his room and strips down, falling into bed thinking about what the creature said. About whatever it is—the Valravn—only appearing to foretell death. Whatever that means, it sends a shiver up Patrik’s spine whenever he remembers the low chill in the creature’s voice as it spoke.

He falls asleep thinking about it, and the dreams come again, fire and destruction against a black sky.

* * *

Patrik goes back down the following evening. His entire body is sore, from tossing and turning during sleep and from training with the knights, but he sets his jaw and heads down the winding stone staircase despite the ache in his legs. The cell is as silent as it was the night before; when it finally comes into view, Patrik can see the creature, back turned to the stairs again.

“I still don’t want to talk to you.” The creature’s wings flutter and spread, feathers trembling, wingtips brushing against the stone walls of the cell. Patrik feels an empathetic ache in his own shoulders, already sore from swordfighting. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

There are no windows in the cell, no way to see whether it’s day or night outside. The only light comes from Patrik’s torch, orange and flickering. Maybe the creature just instinctively knows whether night has fallen. Considering it comes from the Dark, that’d only make sense.

Patrik doesn’t rise to the creature’s bait, just walks forward until the grate of the cell is in reach. Then he stops, crossing one arm over his chest and staring at the bowed head of the beast. Its neck is pale, the knobs of its spine visible just below the iron collar. “I have a few questions,” he says, and before the creature can start snapping at him again, “if you wanna answer.”

The trembling of the creature’s wings stops. Then it scoffs, wings flexing. “You’re giving me a choice?”

Patrik shrugs. He’s too tired to really get annoyed at the way the beast is treating him, without the respect befitting a prince. “I can’t make you talk, can I?”

“You’d try, if you could.”

It isn’t untrue; Patrik likes getting what he wants. But he doesn’t have many other options. So he sweeps his cloak out behind him and drops to the ground, legs folded in front of him. The sheath of his sword clanks against the stone ground, echoing in the cell, and the creature’s head cocks to the side, feathers twitching. The silence between them lingers, and Patrik rests his hands on his knees and watches the creature sit there and breathe.

Eventually, the creature’s chain clinks. It draws its wings in, curled awkwardly around its shoulders as it turns. Then they’re facing each other, the creature’s chain pooled on its thighs as it settles on its knees.

“What game are you playing, human prince?” The creature cocks its head, leaning forward. In the torchlight the angles of its face are even sharper. Bright blue eyes bore into Patrik’s. “What do you want?”

Patrik’s making this up as he goes along, but he knows his first question. “What’s your name?”

The creature narrows its eyes. “Why?”

“I’m not having a conversation with something unless I know its name.”

For a long moment, the creature stares at him. A lesser man would be intimidated; Patrik feels the cold creeping up his spine, sees he frost clinging to the creature’s lashes, and just stares right back.

Finally, the creature sucks in a short breath. “Nikolaj,” it says, voice low and quiet. “My name is Nikolaj.”

“I’m Patrik,” Patrik offers, and the creature—Nikolaj—stares a moment before nodding.

“I’m guessing that’s not your only question,” Nikolaj drawls. Clawed hands curl around the chain in its—in _his _lap. “You might as well ask. I’m not promising any answers, but I don’t have anything better to do.” He stares at Patrik with an intensity that makes Patrik shiver, a sudden chill running just under his skin.

“What you said you were . . .” Patrik frowns, the word on the tip of his tongue. “Valravn. What is that? You said it appears when there’s going to be death.”

Nikolaj shakes his head. “Not just death. A massacre. A slaughter.” His head tips to the side and his mouth slices open in a grin, revealing wickedly sharp teeth. The sight of it prickles at the back of Patrik’s neck. “Enough bodies for all my ravens to feed for days. That sort of destruction.” 

Patrik thinks of fire, dancing through the trees. “What does that _mean_.”

“It means that sometime—maybe soon, maybe not—this place is gonna see untold death and destruction.” Nikolaj leans forward, chain clinking, wings fluttering. His face is a little too sharp, his eyes a little too bright. “Then me and mine clean up what’s left.”

“What’s going to happen?”

Nikolaj leans back. “I don’t know. I’m not a fortune teller.”

Patrik frowns. “Then what use are you?”

It’s strange, how visibly Nikolaj bristles. His eyes go sharp, jaw tightening. The feathers on his wings all go tense, somehow making him seem twice as big as he is, casting a huge shadow on the far wall of the cell. He’s silent, staring at Patrik with unbridled fury, and a deeply buried instinct—it urges Patrik to _run_, to scramble back up the stairs and into the light and warmth of a fireplace, out of this dark, cold hole. His hands go tight around his knees.

“I don’t exist to be useful to you,” Nikolaj says eventually. His voice is soft. “I’m an omen. If you idiots still practiced magic, someone like you might be able to read the signs.”

All of Patrik’s fear fades to confusion. “Someone like me?”

Nikolaj looks at him, unblinking. “Someone with an affinity for magic.”

Now it’s Patrik’s turn to bristle. He glares at the blank expression on Nikolaj’s face, fingertips digging into the meat of his thighs. “I’m not magic.”

Nikolaj laughs; short and sharp. “You’re having nightmares and you think they’re magic, right? That means you’re touched by it, at least a little bit.”

Patrik leans forward. “_You_ did that to me.”

“I didn’t do shit.” The flippancy in Nikolaj’s tone stokes Patrik’s anger even more, raising the simmering heat to a boil. He leans forward even more, hand snapping out to curl around a frozen bar of the cell, ice burning against his palm. Nikolaj doesn’t react, only stares at him. “I can’t give you prophetic dreams. Like I said, I’m an omen, not a soothsayer. I’m just a reaction of things to come.” His eyes flash. “_You’re_ the one dreaming of the future.”

Patrik moves so fast he almost startles himself. He reaches between the bars, grabbing the chain hanging from Nikolaj’s neck. Then he pulls, _sharply_, and Nikolaj’s forehead slams against the bars as a broken, terrified noise spills from his throat.

Nikolaj’s eyes are wide, lower lip trembling as he glares. Patrik leans close. “I’m not magic,” he growls, and Nikolaj bares his teeth like a cornered animal. “Never say that again.”

Then he lets go, and watches with cruel satisfaction as Nikolaj scrambles back until his wings hit the far wall.

“I hope your entire fucking kingdom burns,” Nikolaj snarls, wings shaking, frost spreading where his hands are curled around the chain. Patrik watches the slow crawl of the ice and feels it up his own spine. There’s a scrape on Nikolaj’s forehead slowly leaking blood as black as ink, over the ridge of his brow and down the slope of his nose. It only makes him look more feral. “I’ll eat your fucking heart when destiny’s done with you.”

Patrik sneers. “You’d have to get out of this cage first.”

Nikolaj’s eyes widen, and even in the dim light Patrik can see how hurt softens his mouth. The vicious, feral anger thrumming through his body seems to bleed out, slow and painful; he curls in on himself, and his wings slowly slide down until they’re hanging limp, splayed out on the dirty stone floor.

He doesn’t look like a creature from the Dark. He looks . . . young.

“This conversation is over,” Nikolaj says quietly. “Get out.”

Patrik stares at him, hunched over, blank-faced and staring at the floor. He thinks this should feel like a victory. Instead it’s just kind of hollow, and Patrik stands and heads back up the stairs in complete silence.

* * *

In Patrik’s dreams, the fire consumes everything. Sometimes he watches from the highest tower of the castle as it razes through the forest beyond the walls, eating the trees until there’s nothing but a blazing sea of red and gold. It licks at the walls of the city, and Patrik hears the screams—of his people, of animals, of ravens streaming through the sky—as it finds an opening and courses through the streets like an avalanche.

Other times, he’s in the forest itself; cloak streaming behind him, hands on the reins of a horse as he sprints further and further into the black. The fire bites at his heels, chases him through the trees. It catches him, overtakes him, and he’s surrounded by it, walls of ferocious heat on all sides. 

Once, he’s tied to a pyre, rope chafing his wrists as smoke clouds his nose. Fire climbs the pyre, engulfs his leather boots, races up his clothing. Patrik doesn’t black out, the way people on a pyre usually do. He feels it all, as his skin melts away and his bones crackle and blacken. He screams, but nobody is there to hear him—just dozens of ravens perched on rooftops around him, watching him with careful black eyes.

* * *

“Sire.” Sami approaches him after training with the knights one day, face twisted in concern. He’s the youngest knight, after Patrik—they became squires the same summer—and it’s always been a little weird, being his superior. Sami still feels like his reluctant partner in crime, the only person keeping him from getting into _too_ much trouble.

Patrik rubs a hand over his face, running it back over his hair to push the short strands away from his sweat-slick face. “Sami.”

“Are you okay?” Sami’s watching him, almost careful. Like he’s expecting Patrik to run off and find some trouble to get in, a mess to make even bigger, and he’s preparing to go running off after thim. It’s a strange, sticky feeling in Patrik’s chest. “You’ve been, well, strange. All week. Tired.” Neither of them are going to say Patrik’s been slacking off, but he definitely hasn’t been meeting his own standards. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Patrik opens his mouth, prepared to dismiss his concerns. He can’t exactly say he’s having prophetic dreams. But he stops, lips pressing into a thin line. “I can’t sleep lately.”

Sami nods. “Ah. Well, there is a lot going on, with that treaty.” He smiles at Patrik a bit awkwardly, eyes crinkling, his hand landing warm on Patrik’s shoulder. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Patrik says indistinctly. “Thank you.”

The problem is that he can’t just find someone and talk about it. Nobody talks about magic. Patrik isn’t going to admit to anyone, Sami included, that he’s been cursed with—with prophetic nightmares. He’s too important to end up on a pyre, like in that one dream, but it wouldn’t end well.

At this point he has one option. The dreams keep coming, and they keep getting worse, waking him a couple times a night with his heart pounding and his body drenched in sweat. He needs to get rid of them, learn to make them stop, or—_something_.

Patrik waits until nightfall, then wraps himself in a hooded cloak and heads down to the dungeons again. He doesn’t bring a sword this time—that’s a peace offering, in a way, but he’s not sure Nikolaj will accept. It’s been a week since they last spoke, and Patrik’s not sure whether Nikolaj’s going to hate him or still be the quiet, broken thing curled up on the floor of his cell that Patrik left alone.

If he’s being honest, Patrik would prefer hatred.

When he opens the iron door leading down to Nikolaj’s cell, he hears the clink of the metal chain on stone, and the tail end of a frustrated noise. Then silence, too complete to be anything but deliberate.

Nikolaj’s facing away from him when the cell comes into view. He’s standing, massive wings spread as wide as they’ll go. As Patrik approaches the light from his lantern catches on the feathers, highlighting each wayward edge. They’re in disarray, all slightly out of place, and Patrik’s reminded of fluffy baby birds who haven’t quite grown out of their downy feathers yet.

Patrik walks up to the bars and sits down again. He sets the lantern in front of him, just out of reach of the thin layer of frost clawing across the floor from between the bars.

He’s not expecting Nikolaj to turn and face him, but frustration at being ignored still surges in Patrik’s chest when Nikolaj doesn’t even move. He shoves it back down, staring at Nikolaj’s ruffled feathers and his hands, curled into tight, shaking fists at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” Patrik says, and Nikolaj’s fingers clench tighter.

“No, you aren’t.”

“I am,” Patrik presses, trying not to argue. “What I said last time, what I did—it was cruel. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Nikolaj’s shoulders shift, the tips of his wings fluttering against the floor as he drags in a long, slow breath. Each time his feathers catch the light a new colour flashes across his wings. “Why does it matter?” He turns, finally, wings folding close as he does. His gaze lands on Patrik, sharp and cold, and—Patrik doesn’t like being the small one, here, looking up into Nikolaj’s angular face. “You aren’t sorry enough to let me go.”

Patrik swallows the urge to leap to his feet and press the height advantage. Instead he shrugs, hands resting innocuously in his lap. Nikolaj’s eyes flash over him, short choppy movements, and he lingers a second longer at the absence of a sword on Patrik’s hip.

“I can’t,” Patrik says simply. Nikolaj’s eyes narrow. “You’re too dangerous.”

Scoffing, Nikolaj crosses his narrow, wiry arms. “That’s bullshit.” He shakes his head, chin jutting out as he stares down. Part of Patrik—the childish part, the stupid part—wants to grab his chain and yank him down, until he’s on his knees, until he’s tipping his head back near-painfully to look at _Patrik_ instead of the other way around. “You’re just scared of anything you don’t understand.”

“You attacked my people.”

“I _defended myself_,” Nikolaj snarls, teeth bared. “Your hunters attacked, was I supposed to just take it?” He curls both hands around the bars, leaning so close that Patrik’s neck is already sore looking up at him. “You think if I really wanted to kill anyone they wouldn’t be dead?”

Patrik stares at him, with the full weight of every shred of confidence he has. It’s satisfying, to see Nikolaj falter even though he’s the one standing right now. To see his mouth press together, his fingers slowly pulling back from the bars, his wings curling in tighter like he’s trying to protect himself.

“You haven’t killed me.”

Nikolaj’s jaw twitches. “Not yet.”

They glare at one another, something hot and dangerous sparking between them, and—fuck, this isn’t how Patrik wanted this to go. He came down here for a reason, not for another fight.

“Sorry,” he says again, nearly stumbling over the word. Apologizing to anyone other than his father isn’t something a prince is taught, exactly. “I didn’t come here for this.”

Nikolaj makes a dismissive noise, shoving away from the bars like they’ve burned him. “Yeah, of course. You came here to get something from me, right?” His glare is withering, chilling down to the marrow of Patrik’s bones. 

“I’m here to make a deal.” Patrik keeps his voice even, despite his mounting frustration. Nikolaj cocks his head. “You help me get rid of these dreams, or control them, or _read the signs_, or—whatever. Just help me make them stop.” He holds Nikolaj’s icy gaze, skin prickling at the weight of Nikolaj’s reflective eyes. “And I’ll bring anything you want down here.”

Nikolaj blinks. Then he strides forward and falls to his knees so gracefully something clenches in Patrik’s belly. “Anything?” His fingers curl around the bars again, slender and delicate, eyes wide as he searches Patrik’s face.

“Yeah, basically.” There are perks to being a prince.

Something lights up behind Nikolaj’s eyes, and his wings quiver. “Food?”

It’s not what Patrik was expecting. What he _was_ expecting, he’s not exactly sure, but—

“Do you even need to eat?”

Nikolaj scowls. “What does that matter?” He huffs, shifting restlessly on his knees. “There are plenty of things humans do that they don’t need, just because they feel like it.” 

“Fine.” 

“And if I’m helping you with your dreams, you’re getting me food first.”

Patrik shrugs. It’s the only piece of leverage Nikolaj has; makes sense that he would press whatever advantage is available. “Sure.” He starts to stand, leaving the metal lantern on the floor. “Anything you want?”

Nikolaj stares at him warily. Then his tongue pokes out, swiping slowly across his lower lip, revealing the pointed tips of his canines. “Meat,” he says. “Raw meat.” His chin is tilted up to meet Patrik’s eyes, his eyes wide and wanting. Patrik almost shivers, and turns on his heel to march back up the stairs before the feeling takes root.

Hardly anyone is in the kitchens so late at night. Patrik pays the couple of maids no mind, heading past them to the butcher’s area. He grabs a brace of rabbits hanging from the rafters; small, skinny things that would probably only end up food for someone’s hunting dogs.

He hides the rabbits under his cloak when he passes the guard posted in the dungeons. He won’t ask questions, but Patrik doesn’t need him spreading anything around, either. Castle staff are notorious gossips.

Nikolaj’s eyes are on him the second he comes into view, eyes nothing but two silvery circles as they reflect the lantern light. Patrik pulls out the rabbits and Nikolaj’s head cocks, a sharp, twitchy movement that’s decidedly birdlike.

“Here,” Patrik says, taking a seat and passing the rabbits through the bars. Nikolaj’s eyes are wild but he takes the animals almost . . . delicately. Then he pauses, glancing between his hands and Patrik’s face, and Patrik sighs. “Are you eating them or not?”

Nikolaj scowls, and a strange layer of frost sparkles on his cheekbones. “I’m eating them.”

Almost shyly, he tugs a rabbit off the brace and brings it to his mouth, sharp canines closing gently around the animal’s flank. He tears off a chunk of meat, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to chew. 

Then he ravenously devours the rest of it, until his mouth and fingertips are stained red. His eyes are bright and wild as he stares at the rest of the rabbits, lips pressed together, an almost longing expression on his face. Patrik wonders if he’s about to eat the rest of them, too—but his gaze flickers to Patrik and he shifts uncomfortably on his knees, and the rest of the rabbits remain untouched.

“Okay,” Nikolaj says, hands resting on his thighs. “Tell me about your dreams.”

“What about them?”

Nikolaj huffs. His tongue pokes out, swiping over the redness of his mouth. “Just—anything. Prophetic dreams aren’t straightforward, they’re—metaphorical, or whatever you wanna call it. So I can’t help you interpret them without knowing about them.”

An inborn fear surges up Patrik’s throat at the mention of prophecy. He swallows it down, carefully not letting it show on his face. “What if I don’t want to interpret them?”

“Then too bad,” Nikolaj drawls. “They’re coming because there’s something you’re supposed to know. They’re not gonna stop until you know it.”

Patrik narrows his eyes. “How do you know so much about fortune telling if you’re not a fortune teller?”

“I understand _omens_,” Nikolaj hisses, blood-stained fingers curling on his thighs, claws dragging up the ragged fabric of his pants. “I can’t tell you your future, but I know how to spot the signs. I _am_ one of the signs.” His wings flutter, frustration clear in his voice. “Stop asking stupid questions and tell me about your dreams, or go away.”

Fine. _Fine_. Patrik closes his eyes, breathes in deep and tastes damp, stale air. The dreams tend to blur together, fade into vague details and jumbled emotion. But Patrik always remembers the feeling of fire blazing around him, the heat of it creeping closer, the agony of it turning his bones to charcoal.

“They’re all different,” Patrik starts, still breathing slow and deep. “Sometimes I’m me, sometimes I’m someone else. And they’re always different places.” He can almost feel the heat of the dreams, sweat beading on his brow as he thinks about them. “But there’s always fire.”

Nikolaj shudders, a full-body thing that crawls up his spine and creeps along his wings, until every feather is trembling. “How much fire? Where is it?” His fingers twist together, claws scratching along his pale skin. “Details matter, is it a background thing, or is it . . .”

“It’s burning everything,” Patrik says quietly, and Nikolaj’s shaking wings curl in closer.

“Okay.” Nikolaj’s eyes look huge, glowing in the lantern light. He lifts his gaze from his hands to Patrik’s face, and something about him—he looks a little haunted, a little lost. “Fire usually represents chaos. Some kind of huge, uncontrollable destruction. It doesn’t—it doesn’t always actually mean fire.”

Patrik realizes, maybe belatedly, that Nikolaj is afraid. He’s curled up and trembling, and there’s tiny crystals of frost creeping up his arms from his fingertips.

Fear on him . . . kind of looks the way it would on a human. Minus the wings, and the ice crawling up his skin.

For a moment, Patrik considers chasing his curiosity and asking why fire inspires this kind of reaction. Then just as quickly he decides against it. He doesn’t think Nikolaj would tell him, anyway.

“So, what _does_ it mean?” he asks instead. “If it’s not fire.”

Nikolaj shrugs, hands curling around his knees. “It could be a lot of things. A natural disaster, maybe an army.” His gaze drops to his lap. “Something destructive and—and unstoppable.” He shrugs again, and his eyes are bright and wary when he looks up at Patrik again. “I can’t really say anything else without knowing more details from one of your dreams.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

Nikolaj’s fearful, anxious look sours, and his mouth twists into a scowl. “My apologies, _sire_. I’ll do better next time.”

Shit. Patrik’s fucking this up again. Nikolaj’s the only resource he has here, he can’t make him more angry than he already has. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it slips out a little easier than before. “How about I write down what happens in my next dream? All the details.” 

“Wow, you know how to write.” Nikolaj’s still glaring mulishly at him, eyes violently bright, though the way he’s knelt delicately on the floor—and the disarray of his feathers—kind of ruin the effect. Patrik has never seen someone look so thoroughly threatening and toothless all at once. “I’m surprised.”

“I’ll bring you more,” Patrik promises, and the bite fades out of Nikolaj’s glare. “Anything you want. Just help me get rid of these dreams.”

He can’t conceal his desperation, and Nikolaj must pick up on it, because his eyes burn even brighter. “That’s cute. The big, powerful prince is afraid of nightmares.”

_And the creature of the Dark is afraid of fire_, Patrik nearly snaps back. He resists it, and the urge to lean a few inches forward, to weigh his gaze with all the power he’s been born and bred to possess. Nikolaj is the only one he can talk to about this, and the dreams keep getting worse; he can’t burn this bridge out of his own frustration. So Patrik takes a deep breath, and lets his eyes fall shut before he speaks. “Help me with the dreams.” The next word sticks in his dry throat, and he swallows. “Please.”

Nikolaj’s quiet. “I didn’t know princes knew that word.”

Patrik almost laughs. He opens his eyes to see Nikolaj staring at him, brows furrowed, lips parted. “Yeah. It’s a new experience for me.”

A mean grin tugs at Nikolaj’s mouth, lips pulling back to reveal sharp white teeth. “So if I told you I wouldn’t do it unless you beg, would you?”

“_No_.”

“I didn’t think so.” Nikolaj leans back, head tipping up to show off his pale throat—what isn’t hidden by the iron collar. He rolls his shoulders, wings stretching as far as they can. “Fine, I’ll do it. Since you asked so nicely.” His eyes are hard when they land on Patrik again, his jaw twitching. “And since I don’t have anything else to do.”

Patrik’s heart thuds wetly in his chest, and he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to hide when he keeps his face carefully neutral. “Tomorrow,” he says, climbing to his feet. “See you then, Nikolaj.”

Nikolaj stares up at him, hands resting on his knees. “I’ll be here,” he says bitterly, “Your Highness.”

* * *

Patrik dreams of a vast, open field filled with nothing but a fresh layer of snow. The sky above is black, speckled with blinking, swaying stars, and there’s a rushing in his ears like he’s underwater. Beyond the field is a forest, too dark and too far for him to see anything but the absence of stars in the shape of treetops.

He doesn’t know who he is. He thinks he may be himself, but not quite.

Something screams in the forest—an animal of some kind, loud and shrill and terrible—and Patrik stands frozen, watching the darkness. He can’t move. 

A light flickers in the distance, then two more. It takes him a second to realize it’s fire, orange and bright. Little sparks of it streaming out from between the trees. It’s coming closer, and the screaming is too—

When it’s close enough, he finally sees the flap of wings. Birds—raptors, scavengers, songbirds—fleeing the black forest, all of them blazing with fire, all of them screaming in pain. He stands still, unable to move, as they all swarm him; talons clawing at his hair, beaks pecking at his clothes. Then he’s burning too, a slow agony as it spreads over his skin and melts away his muscle, as it licks all the way down to his bones.

He screams, his voice inhuman, and wakes up with the taste of smoke and burning flesh still sour on his tongue.

For a long minute Patrik just breathes, gulping down cool air. His face is wet, his eyes still blurred when he grabs the little leather-bound book from his bedside cabinet. Then, with shaking fingers, he writes down every single detail he can remember.

* * *

Patrik instructs his manservant to bring him extra food that night at dinner, then wraps up his leftovers—a leg of turkey and crusty bread—in a piece of cloth. Then he heads down to the dungeons, striding past the guard without looking at him. He’s staring, but as long as Patrik’s father continues thinking castle gossip is worthless, Patrik’s mostly got nothing to worry about.

Nikolaj’s kneeling near the metal grate of the cell when Patrik emerges from the stairwell. Bright blue eyes flash immediately in Patrik’s direction, reflecting his lantern light like a cat’s. His wings are curled against his back and he looks simultaneously small and delicate, and ancient and mysterious. A shiver runs down Patrik’s spine. 

He takes a seat in front of the bars, mirroring their exact positions from yesterday. “Here,” Patrik says, handing over the bundle of food. “I’m not sure what you eat, but this is what I had.”

Nikolaj unwraps the cloth, and everything eerie and chilling about him disappears as his eyes go childishly wide. “Oh,” he murmurs, gaze flicking up to Patrik’s face, surprise written over his features. “Yeah, I—I eat this kind of food, too.” 

He devours the food all at once, eyes closed, making satisfied little noises in the back of his throat that are . . . surprisingly human. _Too_ human. Patrik looks away when Nikolaj’s tongue swipes at the corners of his mouth, staring hard at his hands where they’re resting in his lap. He doesn’t look up again.

When Patrik does finally meet Nikolaj’s gaze again, Nikolaj’s staring at him expectantly. “My turn, I guess,” he says. “Tell me about your dreams.”

Wordlessly, Patrik reaches beneath his cloak, around to where he’s tucked his little leather book into the back of his pants. He hesitates, holding it near the bars. Handing the details of his dreams over to a creature of the Dark seems dangerous. Like he’s giving up a key into his mind, to a being that has professed to be magical.

But he can’t keep waking up in the early hours of morning, smoke still caught in his lungs and tears streaming down his face.

“I just had one last night,” Patrik tells him as he’s handing over the book. Nikolaj’s black claws dig delicately into the leather, his blue eyes intensely focused as he runs a fingertip over the gold engraving of the family crest on the front. “It’s all in there.”

Nikolaj nods. He cracks open the book, shifting on his knees as he starts reading.

Patrik can’t watch him. Giving up something so private is one thing; watching someone _read_ those private thoughts is even more. Instead, he stares at the flickering light of the metal lantern sitting on the floor in front of him. The crossing wires of the lantern cast strange shadows on the stone floor, and Patrik watches those shift and change as he waits for Nikolaj to be finished, a stone of anxiety settled heavy at the pit of his gut.

Nikolaj’s short, startled breath pulls him out of it. Patrik glances up without thinking and his heart stutters. Nikolaj’s eyes are wide, his face even paler than usual. He’s trembling, from his hands to his jaw to the long feathers at the tips of his wings.

Slowly, he drags his eyes up from the pages of the book to Patrik’s face. “What is this?”

Patrik’s brow furrows at the question. “Aren’t you supposed to—”

Nikolaj snaps the book shut, and Patrik’s teeth clack together as his mouth closes. The trembling in Nikolaj’s body turns into a full, vicious shudder, so hard Patrik can hear his feathers rustling. “Is this supposed to be a joke?” His lips curl back, wings flaring out. “Are you trying to scare me, _human_?”

Heart hammering, Patrik fights the instinct to lean away from the obvious threat display. “No?”

A snarl rips loose from Nikolaj’s throat, loud and animalistic. “I know having whatever you want at your fingertips must get boring,” he spits, hands flashing out to curl around the bars, face leaning closer, “but you have _no_ _reason_ to take it out on me when I’m actually offering to be helpful—”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“_This_!” Nikolaj throws the book so hard it knocks the air from Patrik’s chest. “Burning birds?” Ice creeps up his hands, over the metal bars. It even glints off the tips of his wings, crawling up each of his long primaries. “You don’t have to like what I am, you don’t have to trust me, but I thought you were at least done being cruel.” His eyes glint, and it takes Patrik a second to realize there are frosted tears gathering on his long, pale lashes.

Patrik’s heart goes cold. “I’m—I’m not,” he stammers, “I wasn’t.”

Tears spill over Nikolaj’s cheeks, already frozen as they slide down his skin. “_Coward_. At least admit what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Patrik urges. “Those things were all in my dream. I don’t know what they mean but they were all _there_.” Patrik shivers, cold creeping up his spine, fire licking under his skin. “I swear. That was my dream.”

“Oh,” Nikolaj says. His angry expression cracks. “_Oh_.” 

He reaches up with shaking hands to scrape away the icy tears with his fists. Patrik watches, unable to look away even as discomfort eats at his stomach.

“‘M sorry,” Nikolaj mumbles, still scrubbing the tear stains from his face. “I thought—” He cuts himself off with a deep, hitching breath. When he breathes out, some of the tension seems to bleed out of his shoulders. “Okay. Let me read it again.”

Patrik hands the book back. His tongue feels thick, caught in his throat. 

He was never very good at being comforting. Princes are supposed to be fair and compassionate, but always distant.

“The empty field likely represents loneliness,” Nikolaj says eventually. “Or isolation. Were you scared of it?”

Patrik’s instinct is to say no. Deny any weakness. But he swallows, thinking back, shivering when he remembers. “I don’t think so,” he says slowly. “But I was confused.” He frowns. “Not because of the field, just—” He doesn’t know how to explain it.

Nikolaj nods. “Dreams don’t always make a lot of sense,” he says in a low, fragile voice. “Even when they mean something.”

It’s not what Patrik wants to hear. He doesn’t let his frustration show. “What else?”

“Birds usually symbolize freedom. That they’re burning, I—” His fingers curl tight around the book, claws puncturing the leather. “It’s not something good. And if they attacked you, or whoever you were in the dream, made you burn too—” A violent shiver courses through his body, so tense and tight it looks painful. He’s staring at the book, or maybe at his lap.

This time Patrik can’t ignore the question on the back of his tongue. “Are you afraid of fire?”

Nikolaj’s head snaps up, eyes bright and and terrified. He says nothing, and it’s as good an answer as any.

Patrik wishes he’d ignored his curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” he says haltingly. The horror on Nikolaj’s face slithers between his ribs, finds his heart and latches on with sharp, icy claws. “I shouldn’t ask that.”

Nikolaj shakes his head. “No, it’s . . .” He seems so small, his shoulders curled in, his head slightly bowed. Even his wings have folded against his back, though his feathers are standing on end like the hairs on the back of Patrik’s neck. “Do you know what the opposite of the Dark is?” His voice is soft, lilting strangely. A little inhuman, and a little _too_ human. Patrik doesn’t know whether he’s actually supposed to answer.

When Nikolaj only stares at his twisting fingers, near-white with frost, Patrik guesses at it anyway. It’s not really difficult to figure it out. “Fire?”

“Yeah.” Nikolaj’s fingers curl around the chain hanging from his neck, pulling it taut. “It’s, uh. It’s like how humans are born scared of the Dark. We’re all the opposite.”

“Sorry.”

The nervous twitching of Nikolaj’s fingers stops. He lifts his head slowly, shoulders and neck bowed forward. There are still tiny crystals of ice clinging to his lashes when he looks at Patrik, his expression almost angry. “Why are you apologizing?”

Patrik frowns. “Because I am?”

Nikolaj’s mouth twitches. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you using me to try and absolve your guilt.” His hand tightens around the chain. “I want you to let me out. Unless that happens, I don’t give a shit how _sorry_ you are.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course not. None of you ever make decisions on your own.” Nikolaj turns his head away, revealing the sharp line of his jaw, the pale expanse of his neck. 

Fine. Tonight’s conversation is over.

* * *

When Patrik opens the iron door leading down to Nikolaj’s cell, a frustrated cry echoes up into the stone stairwell. Then the clink of the chain, and a rustling of feathers. He heads down slowly, boots making soft sounds on the stone, listening to Nikolaj’s muttered curses and clear, almost desperate sounds of irritation.

Patrik steps out of the stairwell, and his lantern illuminates Nikolaj with his back to the bars, on his knees and bent almost entirely in half. The cloak he’s been wearing since Patrik found him sits in a pile in the corner of the cell. His arms are twisted up behind his back, fingers buried in the short, fluffy feathers at the base of his wings. Light catches on the feathers and the iridescent colour in them is almost entirely gone; instead, the black is almost brown, coated in a thin layer of dust. 

“Come on,” Nikolaj whines, high-pitched. “Come on, _come on_.” He dips forward until his forehead is on the floor, wings fluttering, spreading and folding awkwardly. The knobs of his spine are visible beneath his pale skin, almost eerily sharp. A noise almost like a moan slips out through gritted teeth and the back of Patrik’s neck goes warm.

“Nikolaj?” Carefully, he steps closer. “Are you okay?”

Nikolaj stills. His arms withdraw from behind his back, fingers spread wide as he braces them on the floor near his head. “Go away,” he says in a strangled voice. He doesn’t lift up, but rather stays with his spine curved and his wings stretched awkwardly in the small space. “I’m busy.”

Patrik furrows his brow, staring at Nikolaj’s prostrate position. “With what?”

“Go _away_.” 

His voice is wavering, his fingers curling on the dirty floor. White frost creeps along his shoulders and up the back of his neck the way a blush might, and Patrik realizes with a little twinge of something warm in his belly that Nikolaj is _embarrassed_.

_Oh_. Patrik stares at the roll of muscle beneath pale skin, wondering whether Nikolaj’s cheeks are sparkling with the same frost as his bare shoulders—then he shakes that thought loose, and any associated warmth with it.

“Do you need help?” he asks, managing an even tone.

“_What_?” Nikolaj’s head snaps up, and he glares at Patrik from over his shoulder. His eyes are bright and wild, and sure enough, frost glints on his sharp cheekbones. The warmth in Patrik’s belly flickers to life again. “No, I don’t need _help_.”

Patrik raises a brow, drags his gaze over Nikolaj’s curved spine and messy, ruffled wings. “You sure?”

Abruptly Nikolaj sits upright, knocking his massive wings against the walls as he does. “I’m _fine_,” he snaps. He’s not looking at Patrik anymore. “I don’t need your help, especially not with _this_.”

“With what?” Patrik repeats.

“My wings.” Nikolaj snorts, derisive and dismissive. “Not something a human can help with.”

Patrik glances over his wings. They’re noticeably mussed and coated in dust, especially right where they connect to his back, where he probably couldn’t reach. “Well, I know falconry,” Patrik says, the words spilling out unbidden. “I know how preening works. I can help you, if you need.”

Nikolaj’s silent. Shocked, maybe. He wouldn’t be the only one.

“Do you,” Nikolaj starts, after the silence between them has stretched into something awkward. “Do you even know—” His mouth audibly snaps shut, and he shakes his head, the frost on his pale hair catching the light. “Nevermind.” The chain clinks as he moves, shuffling until his back is to the bars, his wings nearly pressed against them. “Fine. You can, uh, go ahead. I guess.”

Patrik’s stomach swoops, and he carefully approaches the cell to kneel at Nikolaj’s back. He lifts his hands, reaching through the still-frosted grate of the cell. His heart’s pounding like a drumbeat in his ears as he carefully smooths his fingers over Nikolaj’s feathers. 

Nikolaj shivers. A tiny noise catches in the back of his throat. 

_Fuck_. Patrik combs through Nikolaj’s disarrayed feathers, smoothing them back into place. They’re soft, like he’s running his fingers through silk, and cool to the touch. A few loose feathers drift to the ground as he goes, and Patrik’s struck with the ridiculous, _stupid_ impulse to pick one up and pocket it.

He swallows, and smooths out the frayed edges of another feather.

“Do you use oil?” Patrik asks, curious. He knows from experience that birds usually either use oil or dust to clean themselves and keep their feathers protected, but he has no idea how that extends to the Valravn. 

Nikolaj rolls his shoulders, and hangs his head foreward. “Further down,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “There’s a, uh, gland?”

Huh. So Nikolaj’s more of a bird than Patrik thought.

Patrik ventures further down, to the base of Nikolaj’s wings. He finds the gland easily enough and coats his fingers in oil, then starts combing them through Nikolaj’s feathers again. He concentrates on the ones that are the messiest, the ones Nikolaj probably can’t reach on his own.

“Who usually does this?” He drags his fingers all the way down Nikolaj’s wings, and a shudder runs through Nikolaj’s body. “There’s only one of you, right?”

“My—my ravens,” Nikolaj stammers. His soft, keening sigh slips into the relative silence of the cell, raising gooseflesh on Patrik’s arms.

Right. Patrik remembers; walking through the snowy woods, alone but for the ravens watching him carefully from the trees. The memory makes him shiver. He pushes it aside and keeps combing through Nikolaj’s feathers, coating them in oil so the colours start to shine through again.

When Patrik reaches the tops of the wings, his fingertips brush against Nikolaj’s skin. He’s cool to the touch, but not as cold as Patrik was expecting, even with the frost covering his skin like a flush. Not stinging, like icy metal, but relieving like a pane of glass in early spring. Patrik drags his fingers up, digging them into the muscle of Nikolaj’s shoulders, up to the nape of his neck. His thumb sweeps up over the sharp bumps of Nikolaj’s spine, slotting into the grooves between each vertebrae.

“What . . .” Nikolaj sounds almost dazed, his voice shaky. “What are you . . . ?”

Patrik stills. What the _fuck_ is he doing.

He moves his hands back to the safety of Nikolaj’s wings. He’s more efficient combing through them now, wasting no time as he smooths out all the wayward edges. Then he moves out further, to the secondaries and the coverts. Nikolaj’s wings are big enough that Patrik has to get up and move to really get to every feather. 

It’s safer that way. The less chance he has of touching Nikolaj’s skin like that again, the better.

“There,” he says when he’s done, standing up and stepping back. “Done.” He bends down to pick up the lantern, and shoves the rabbits he brought through the bars of the cell. “You don’t have to—we can do dreams tomorrow.” 

Nikolaj’s quiet. Patrik stares at him; at the expanding of his back as he breathes, at the oil-slick shine of his wings, at the frost coating his shoulders and neck and the tips of his ears like a second skin. He’s grateful that he can’t see Nikolaj’s face, and whatever expression might be on it, because then he might do something _really_ stupid.

As it is, his fingers are already itching to bury themselves in Nikolaj’s feathers again. So he heads back upstairs, leaving Nikolaj to the quiet dark, and tries desperately to keep his breathing under control.

* * *

“I brought you something,” Patrik says the next night, as he’s stepping out of the stairwell.

Nikolaj glances at him, head cocking to the side. His eyes are sharp as he traces a path over Patrik’s body, clearly searching for what Patrik’s brought him, mouth pressed into a thin line. Eventually his gaze lands on Patrik’s arm, folded behind his back and tucked under his cloak.

When his eyes find Patrik’s again, there’s an almost childish curiosity there. “What?”

Patrik tugs the offering—he’s not calling it a gift—out from behind his back. A woven blanket, fraying at the edges but still soft enough it’s been in his own bed until just recently, when Pinja gave him another for the solstice. It’s rolled up enough that he can slip it between the bars, and Nikolaj takes it gently, careful with his sharp black claws. “So your wings don’t get as dirty,” Patrik explains, wincing internally at how earnest he sounds, like he’s presenting a courting gift. 

The same white frost from yesterday climbs up Nikolaj’s gaunt cheeks so suddenly Patrik’s nearly breathless. “Oh,” he says softly. He haltingly brings the blanket to his face, and with a self-conscious glance at Patrik, rubs his cheek against it. His lids flutter shut, and though he’s wearing his sleeveless cloak again, Patrik can still see frost clinging to his collarbones and creeping down his chest.

Fuck, this was an unbelievably bad idea. Patrik can’t bring himself to regret it, as Nikolaj arches his neck to press further against the blanket.

Finally, Nikolaj’s eyes open. “I, uh. Thank you.”

The moment lingers. Patrik’s fingers twitch.

“Here.” Patrik pulls out his leather book, passing it through the bars. Nikolaj drops the blanket into his lap, looking almost grateful for the distraction as he takes the book and carefully flips through it. “I had another dream last night.”

“Right.” Nikolaj reads over the details of the dream, jaw tight. There was more fire again. This time Patrik was in the walls of the city, though it was completely empty. He was the only one, sitting in the highest tower of the castle, as fire climbed the walls and raced through the halls towards him. 

Eventually Nikolaj closes the book. He wordlessly hands it back to Patrik, fingers twisting in the blanket in his lap as he stares somewhere near Patrik’s feet. Patrik realizes he’s still standing, and the sight of Nikolaj kneeling and curled up smaller than he really is—he sits, cloak flaring out around him at the abrupt movement.

“There’s a pattern,” Nikolaj says slowly. “Not just the fire, but. You being alone.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “Or, whoever you are being alone.”

Patrik shivers. Yeah, that feeling of loneliness lingers even when he wakes up. “Does it mean something?”

Nikolaj shifts his weight. “It means something terrible is going to happen,” he murmurs, voice nearly a whisper, “and you’ll be stuck watching, unable to stop it.”

Anger surges up in Patrik like a wild animal. He tamps it down, curling his hands into tight fists, teeth grinding together. It isn’t Nikolaj’s fault, he reminds himself. Nikolaj is an omen, nothing more. He didn’t bring whatever’s coming. He isn’t the reason Patrik feels so powerless.

Patrik takes a deep breath, and tries to let his frustration bleed out. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know.” Nikolaj looks at him, eyes wide and wary. “I—I really don’t.”

* * *

Every time Patrik walks into his father's chambers for a meeting, he can’t get rid of the tension, tight around his shoulders and neck and all the way down to his knuckles. He walks in with his head held high to see his father seated at his dining table, poring over a collection of official-looking documents. Many of them are letters, the wax seals still unbroken, and Patrik stands straight-backed next to the chair across from his father in a show of respect.

“Father,” he says, and when his father acknowledges him with a wave of his hand, he takes a seat. He leans across the table, peering at the elegant script of the nearest document. It’s a record of one of the border villages; population, harvest, taxes. “What’s going on?”

“The southern kingdom,” Father says, a wrinkle between his brows.

Patrik’s mouth goes dry. More trouble from them, apparently. What else is new. “Did they reject the treaty again?”

His father nods, sliding an opened letter across the wooden table. “Their demands are ridiculous,” he says as Patrik reads it over. Hm. Ridiculous doesn’t even start to cover it. The demands they’re making are more like they’re asking for the terms of surrender. “They’re asking far too much, and I’m sure they know it.”

“What do you mean?”

Heaving out a sigh, his father finally looks up from whatever document he’s reading. Patrik meets his gaze, sitting up a little straighter under the tired weight of it. “If they really wanted to make this treaty work, they wouldn’t be making such absurd demands.”

“You think they want negotiations to break down?” Patrik glances down at the letter again. It’s . . . not exactly a difficult jump to make. “So they can . . . conquer us?”

His father shakes his head, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. “I don’t think anything so drastic. They certainly aren’t looking to make allies of us, however.” He frowns. “Possibly so that someday they may launch a campaign, but I doubt they would risk such a destructive move so soon. Their armies would have to traverse too close to the Dark to reach us, and that’s a high risk.”

Patrik thinks of Nikolaj, appearing from the darkness only two months ago and killing farm animals. Of his own dreams, wicked fire spreading through trees and city streets alike.

Maybe the destruction foretold by Nikolaj’s arrival—and Patrik’s dreams—is an invading army.

Briefly, Patrik considers bringing it up. But he can’t exactly admit he’s been down to see Nikolaj when he’s supposed to be left alone and forgotten, and he definitely can’t admit his own prophetic dreams. Best case scenario his father would think he’d gone insane, and worst case scenario, well . . . he’d take Patrik at his word and have him imprisoned for sorcery. Blame would likely fall at Nikolaj’s feet, just like how Patrik accused him at first, and Patrik can’t even begin to consider what his father would do.

Not that he cares that much about Nikolaj’s fate. It’d just be unfair.

“I think we should keep an eye on them,” Patrik says, sliding the letter back across the table. His heart pounds almost painfully in his chest. “In case they try something.” An imaginary army marches through his mind, sacking and burning the outer villages on the way to the heart of the kingdom.

His father nods. “It’s always smart to be vigilant.”

Privately, Patrik agrees. Which is why, when night falls and the castle has mostly gone to sleep, he heads down to Nikolaj’s cell once again.

“I think it might be an army,” Patrik says, as he’s watching Nikolaj’s bright, focused eyes flick over the description of his dreams. Part of him’s apprehensive about discussing kingdom business with anyone who isn’t in the council—let alone a creature from the Dark—but Nikolaj has nobody else to tell, and Patrik needs to say _something_. “There’s trouble with the kingdom to the south. They’re not accepting any of our treaties.”

Nikolaj nods, mouth quirking wryly. “That’s all you humans do, isn’t it?” His eyes jump from the page to Patrik’s face, and Patrik feels his stare prickling under his skin. “Start wars with each other?”

“No,” Patrik snaps, maybe a bit too defensively. Warmth flushes up his cheeks at Nikolaj’s mean, knowing grin, which has a few too many teeth to really be considered a smile. “What do you know about humans anyway?”

“More than you do,” Nikolaj drawls. “Enough to know you’re always repeating your mistakes.”

Patrik scowls petulantly. “We’re not always—you don’t know anything.”

“You have centuries of examples of what _not_ to do, and you still make the same bad decisions.” Wings fluttering, Nikolaj leans forward, curling his slender hands around the bars. His fingers are pale against the frosted black metal. “Over and over. Why do you think the Valravn exists in the first place, idiot?” His tone is smug, like he’s pleased to have the upper hand here. “It’s been appearing to your kind as an omen since you first learned how to kill each other.”

“Wait,” Patrik finds himself saying, “how old are _you_?”. He said _centuries_ like he’d been around to see all of it, but the human parts of him look about as old as Patrik. And he speaks of the Valravn like it’s something separate from himself, oddly.

Nikolaj cocks his head to the side. “Uh. A few months, I think?”

“Um.” Patrik blinks at him. “What?”

“_What_?” Now Nikolaj scowls at him, fingers tightening around the bars. “What’s your problem now?”

“Um, nothing,” Patrik stammers. He gestures vaguely at Nikolaj’s body, something twisting in his stomach when the white frost-blush climbs up Nikolaj’s cheeks. “You . . . don’t look like you’re a few months old?” 

Nikolaj’s scowl—and his white flush—deepens. “Well, I wasn’t _born_ a few months ago,” he snaps, wings arching and quivering behind him. “Age is a human thing. I just woke up like this.”

“Then why do you talk like you’ve been alive for centuries?”

“I’ve _existed_ for centuries,” Nikolaj says, then frowns, brow creasing. “Or, the Valravn has existed for centuries. It’s complicated.” At Patrik’s wide-eyed, brows-raised look, he sighs and shifts his weight, settling onto his knees a little more comfortably. “I’m the Valravn, but there were other Valravn before me, I think. It’s hard to think about.” His pale pink lips press together, confusion softening his face and making him appear even younger. “I think the ones before me were all me, too?”

Patrik stares, trying to dim the curiosity burning at the back of his throat. “You don’t know?”

Frost creeps to the tips of Nikolaj’s ears. His mouth crooks into a pout. Strange how a creature covered in frost, with massive black wings and vicious black claws, can look so embarrassed. “Well, I never had to think about it in human terms!” 

He’s in such a huff that Patrik bursts into decidedly unprincelike giggles. Nikolaj’s eyes widen, wings puffing up indignantly, and it only makes Patrik laugh harder.

“Shut up!” Nikolaj snaps, the frost gleaming even brighter. “You’re an ass.” His mouth twitches.

And then something really, truly awful happens; Nikolaj starts to laugh too. He laughs with his whole body, full and breathless, head tipping back and wings shaking. He looks almost surprised to be laughing, the sharp angles of his face softening. Patrik’s own laughter fades and he stares at the pointed tips of Nikolaj’s canines, butterflies whirling in his stomach. God, Nikolaj’s _beautiful_.

“I like your laugh,” Patrik murmurs.

“You—” Nikolaj’s stopped laughing. “Um.”

Oh. Patrik flushes, cursing himself. “I mean—” He shakes his head, lips pursing in a frown. “I didn’t.” He stands too quickly, head rushing. “See you tomorrow night.” Then he turns on his heel, cloak flaring out around him as he marches towards the stairwell.

“Good night,” Nikolaj calls softly after him, and Patrik—Patrik almost turns around right then.

He doesn’t. But it’s a near, dangerous thing.

* * *

Patrik keeps going down to the depths of the castle, keeps bringing Nikolaj offerings (_not gifts_, he tells himself) in exchange for Nikolaj’s thoughts on his dreams. Food, more blankets, a pillow Patrik took from his own bed. Nikolaj gives him a weird, considering look for that one, frosted flush on his cheeks as he rubs his cheek against it and breathes deep. His lashes flutter shut, and his claws nearly rip through the fabric when his grip tightens. _That_ lights a fire in Patrik’s belly and he doesn’t even know why.

Once, he brings down a silver coin to see how much of a raven Nikolaj really is. He flips it into the air just to watch Nikolaj’s eyes track the flash of it in the lantern light, head moving in quick, sharp little movements that can’t be considered anything but birdlike. Patrik laughs, warmth bubbling up in his chest.

“Here,” he says, still snickering, and tosses the coin through the bars. Nikolaj catches it easily, and holds it between two black claws as he stares at it with wide eyes. “You can keep that.”

Nikolaj’s gaze flicks from the coin to Patrik and back again. “Thank you.”

Patrik decides in that moment to buy him more shiny, pretty things, jewelry and trinkets, just to see how often he can see that wide-eyed wonder. For his own amusement, and no other reason.

Sometimes, he doesn’t bring Nikolaj anything at all, but spends a good hour or so grooming his wings. They settle into a pattern; Nikolaj sits with his back to the bars and Patrik kneels behind him, smoothing his fingers through Nikolaj’s feathers, coating them with oil to keep them soft and free of dirt. Nikolaj keeps his head bowed, murmuring wordless encouragement and soft, pleased noises, and Patrik—

Patrik uses all of his training, all of his focus, to keep his mind on the task. He’s careful but efficient, slipping his fingers over every wayward feather, tugging out the ones that’ve come loose. Nikolaj folds and twists his wings to give him access, and Patrik thinks it’d be a lot easier if Nikolaj could stretch them out all the way.

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t think the reminder would be appreciated.

As they talk more about his dreams, they begin to fade. Patrik doesn’t notice until he wakes to sunlight streaming through his window, his manservant arranging breakfast on his dining table, and realizes he slept through the night without a nightmare to wake him.

He goes down to Nikolaj’s cell that night anyway.

“No nightmares, huh?” Nikolaj’s inspecting the little trinket Patrik brought him; a songbird in flight, carved from pale wood. He found it on a week-long trip to deal with bandit attacks on one of the outer villages, and he can’t really explain why he bought it, except that when he saw the details carved into the wings he couldn’t help but think of Nikolaj. Of the hidden swirl of colour in his black feathers.

Patrik shrugs, pushing the thought out of his mind. “None.”

Nikolaj smiles; a private, shy little thing. He sets the carving down gently, like he’s afraid of it breaking. “Not even any normal dreams?” He leans forward, looking curiously up at Patrik through his lashes.

Suddenly, Patrik remembers that he _did_ dream. Of touch-warmed skin and silky feathers and eerily blue eyes. He doesn’t remember a lot from the dream, but. Enough to know it was about as far from a nightmare as possible.

He shakes his head, willing away whatever blush might be burning under his skin. “Nothing,” he says evenly. 

“Huh.” Nikolaj watches him a second longer. “Maybe that means you’ve figured it out.”

Patrik’s brow furrows. “‘Maybe’?”

“I don’t actually know,” Nikolaj says with a shrug. “Magic is fickle, especially concerning humans. Nothing ever works with your kind the way it should.” He rolls his shoulders, wincing when the bones audibly pop and crackle. “I don’t really have a better answer than that.” 

He’s frowning at his own wings as he flexes his feathers, and Patrik feels the phantom ache of limbs he doesn’t have, cramped and crowded into a tiny room.

“When I groom your wings tomorrow,” Patrik blurts out, “what if I opened the door and let you sit out here?” He glances around himself, at the tall ceiling, the distant walls. “So you could stretch your wings out all the way?”

Nikolaj stares at him, his big blue eyes so intense they’re burning a hole in Patrik’s skin. Patrik’s chest goes tight when he sees tiny crystals of ice beading on Nikolaj’s lashes, gleaming in the dim light. “Really?” Slowly, his hands come up and curl tightly around the bars. Some stupid, impulsive part of Patrik wants to cover Nikolaj’s hands with his own. He swallows, keeping his hands in his lap and his eyes on Nikolaj’s. “You’re not fucking with me, you’d actually—?”

“Yeah.”

A choked laugh slips out of Nikolaj’s throat. “Thank you.” He sways forward, eyes fluttering shut, and Patrik wants to _touch_. “Goodnight, Patrik.”

“Goodnight, Nikolaj.”

* * *

Patrik pays a visit to his father the next day. They discuss kingdom news; stores from the harvest, the success of the hunters, the minor grievances presented by the common people. Patrik listens to everything his father has to say, and ventures closer to his father’s bedside cabinet on the pretext of looking out the window. Then, when his father’s back is turned, he pockets the small iron keyring sitting innocuously in the top drawer.

He thinks maybe he should feel more guilty, but. It’s not like he’s planning on letting Nikolaj free. Just . . . giving him some space to stretch his wings. Patrik can’t imagine being cooped up in a cell so small he couldn’t stretch out his legs for weeks.

Nikolaj is trembling when Patrik goes down to see him that night, his wings flared as wide as they’ll go. Light catches on his wide eyes, coating them with silver, until Patrik steps closer and the severe angles of his face catch the light instead. He’s kneeling on one of his blankets, hands curled around the bars, head cocked to the side as he stares up at Patrik.

Patrik recognizes the power he holds here, and it both makes him nauseous and strikes lightning down to his core.

“Move back a bit,” he says, and Nikolaj complies immediately, shuffling back with more grace than a caged creature should have. His eyes are locked on Patrik’s hand when he pulls out the keyring and inserts the larger of the two keys into the lock.

The lock clicks. Patrik breathes in deep, then steps back and swings the iron grate open.

Nikolaj’s eyes flash dangerously, and Patrik’s spine tingles. He gets to his bare feet elegantly, standing to his full height—still at least a head shorter than Patrik—and taking a tentative step towards the open door. Then another, and another, stepping gingerly over the long chain bolted to the stone floor.

At the door, he glances to Patrik. His eyes are wide, searching. Patrik’s heart cracks like a broken bone.

Then Nikolaj steps through the doorway and into the larger room beyond, past where Patrik stands. He stops in the very middle. Slowly, his wings begin to extend, feathers reaching up and out like dozens of long black fingers, until his full wingspan is reached, so massive and imposing it nearly gives Patrik a headache.

“Oh,” Nikolaj chokes, and a sob wracks his body as he crumples to his knees.

“Nikolaj!” Patrik follows him down, knees falling hard on the stone, dull pain lancing up his thighs. He flutters both hands near Nikolaj’s wings, over his back, itching to bury his fingers in the soft downy feathers at the base. “Nikolaj, are you—”

“Thank you,” Nikolaj manages, cutting through Patrik’s words. “Fuck_, thank you_.” He curls forward, until the knobs of his spine are visible through his cloak. His body shakes with hitching, uneven sobs, half-formed noises breaking in his throat. He rolls his shoulders and the movement travels down his wings, until the very tips of his primaries are quivering.

Patrik’s eyes sting. He pulls back, hands settling on his thighs.

Eventually, Nikolaj’s sobbing fades into slow, steady breathing. He straightens up slowly, chain clinking against stone with the movement, holding his chin high like he doesn’t have tears frozen to his lashes and over the slopes of his cheeks. Patrik can only see a small sliver of his face, the corner of his eye and the line of his jaw.

He rustles his feathers. Flexes his wings, then stretches them out as far as they’ll go. “You can, uh.” Now he ducks his head, the tips of his ears frosted. “My wings.”

Right. Patrik shuffles into place behind Nikolaj, and stares at the trembling of his wings for a moment too long before threading his fingers between silk-soft feathers.

Nikolaj gasps a breath like it’s been punched out of him, and Patrik’s gut clenches.

Though he’s become more or less practiced at this, he starts slow. Trailing his fingers over Nikolaj’s wings, barely a brush of fingertips, smoothing the most wayward feathers back into place. He spends a long few minutes just _touching_ Nikolaj, losing time in the softness of feathers against his winter-dry skin. It’s long since stopped being strange, how the scent of fresh bark and wet pine floods Patrik’s nose whenever he does this, no matter how long it’s been since Nikolaj was last in the woods.

When Nikolaj shivers and makes a soft, keening noise through his teeth, Patrik remembers he isn’t just here to fondle Nikolaj’s wings. He drags his hands through the feathers until he finds the gland at the base of Nikolaj’s wings, pressing against it to coax out the oil.

Then he sets out on the actual task of straightening Nikolaj’s feathers and coating them in a protective, shiny layer of oil. As always, he starts with the base, slowly working his way through the scapulars, to the secondaries, the coverts, and finally the primaries. Nikolaj stays mostly silent, mostly still.

“You’re really good at this,” Nikolaj says softly, while Patrik’s twisting his fingers over a frayed feather near the first bend of his wing. Patrik’s eyes snap up, but Nikolaj’s still just staring at his own lap. 

“Yeah?” Patrik scratches down the length of a few feathers, earning a full-body shudder. “Better than your ravens?”

“It’s different with them.” Nikolaj breathes out a low, shaky sigh. “With you—your hands—”

He doesn’t continue, and sparkling flecks of ice creep from his shoulders over the tops of his wings.

Heat blazes to life under Patrik’s skin, at the base of his spine. “What about my hands?”

Nikolaj bows his head, tipping forward, wings flexing to keep him balanced. Patrik continues with his work, tugging at a loose feather, smoothing out the edges of another. He barely hears Nikolaj’s murmured, “you’re so _warm_,” but it jolts through Patrik’s body so suddenly he’s lightheaded. 

He pauses just long enough to get himself back under control. Then he carries on.

When he’s finished with the outermost primary, Patrik pushes to his feet and steps back to look over his work. Nikolaj’s feathers are gleaming, the iridescent colouring bright with a fresh coat of oil. The expanse of his wings is sleek, every feather groomed into position. Pride swells up in Patrik’s chest at the sight, at the knowledge that _he_ made Nikolaj look so beautiful.

“There,” he says softly, a smile quirking his lips. “Now you’re pretty again.”

Nikolaj shudders. His legs are shaky as he stands. For a moment he’s almost still but for his wings, shaking them out. Then he folds them against his back, and breathes in deep. He turns to face Patrik with his jaw set and a vicious flush of white across his cheeks.

Patrik’s heart hammers. Nikolaj swallows, then steps closer.

“Thank you,” he says, before winding his arms around Patrik’s neck and tugging him down into a kiss.

Patrik goes still, eyes wide open with shock. Nikolaj’s mouth against his is warm and wet, so different from the rest of him, and his lips are tentative. Patrik wonders whether he’s done this before, in his short life—the idea that he _hasn’t_ sets Patrik alight, and he grabs at Nikolaj’s narrow waist, leaning into him and kissing him back hungrily. 

He swallows Nikolaj’s moan, licking at the seam of his mouth until Nikolaj’s lips part. Then the kiss turns filthy, open-mouthed and sloppy. Patrik digs his fingers into Nikolaj’s flesh hard enough to make him squeak, and he swallows down that noise too.

Nikolaj _definitely_ hasn’t done this before. Something ugly and possessive rears its head in Patrik’s chest, crowing at owning this piece of Nikolaj.

Patrik crushes Nikolaj even closer against him, biting at his mouth. The links of the chain press against his sternum.

This isn’t the only part of Nikolaj he owns.

The realization is like a bucket of ice water. Patrik shoves back, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp. He takes a step back and Nikolaj sways towards him, eyes wide and glassy, lips pink and swollen from kissing. He looks completely debauched, fucking _ruined_. So much of Patrik wants to step back into his space, tip him back until he’s off-balance, wring more noises out of him until he’s a quivering mess.

But the iron collar around his neck, coated with a thin layer of frost and chaining him to the ground, quells those thoughts quickly. 

“I can’t,” Patrik stammers, his voice raw. He takes another step back. “We can’t. Not like—” He gestures at the chain, hand shaking. “Not like this.”

Nikolaj blinks. He looks completely out of his own head, just from a kiss. “What . . . ?” He follows Patrik’s gaze, glancing down at himself. When his eyes land on the chain a bit of sharpness comes back to his features. “Oh.”

Patrik shakes his head. “I can’t. Not with you here.”

“Okay.” Nikolaj lifts his chin and takes a step closer. His eyes meet Patrik’s, bright and burning. “Then let me go.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He juts his chin out a little more. The chain sways with the movement, and Patrik can’t look away. “Let me go. You know I’m not a danger to your people.” His voice is soft, but urgent, and Patrik’s heart clenches.

“I can’t,” he repeats. “My father—”

“Who _cares_!” Nikolaj steps closer again, footsteps silent. His eyes are huge, his mouth trembling. “You don’t have to do everything he says! You can _let me go_!”

Patrik so badly wants to do it. To release the padlock holding Nikolaj’s collar shut and lead him back up to fresh air, watch him disappear into the black sky. But . . . he’s a prince. He’s his father’s only son. And one of the first lessons Patrik learned is that sometimes, he must make sacrifices for the good of the whole.

He breathes in deep, and his whirling, conflicted feelings disappear on an exhale. He’s always been good at this part; steeling his features, holding his chin high, straightening his shoulders. “No,” he says cooly, and the urgent expression on Nikolaj’s face shatters. “I can’t do that.”

“No, c’mon.” Nikolaj moves closer, reaches out and curls both hands in Patrik’s tunic. “Patrik, don’t leave me down here.” Tears well up in his bright blue eyes, already frozen on his pale lashes.

Patrik swallows, and says nothing.

Nikolaj stumbles even closer. His legs are shaking—his whole body is shaking—and his fingers are gripped so tight in Patrik’s shirt it’s like he’d fall over without that to hold onto. “Please,” he chokes out. “I’ll hunt in the woods, I won’t go anywhere near humans, I’ll—I’ll disappear, into the Dark, nobody will ever see me again, just—”

His legs give out, and he falls gracelessly to his knees. His hands smack against the stone, shaking arms barely supporting him.

“_PLEASE_!” Nikolaj screams. Something in him seems to break and suddenly he’s screaming his tears, hunched over at Patrik’s feet. Frost spreads over his skin, his wings, his hair, until his entire body is coated in a thin layer of ice that crackles with every violent sob.

Bile rises in Patrik’s throat. He steps back, away from Nikolaj’s body, in the direction of the stairwell. He wants to apologize but the words catch in his throat.

Nikolaj’s crying, hunched up and trembling so violently it looks painful—and Patrik can’t watch it anymore. His chest is caving in, collapsing around his lungs, making each breath short and sharp. So he turns, marching with his back straight and his head high towards the stairwell.

He’s out of sight when he hears Nikolaj’s scream. Inhuman and raw, and almost sounding like the word _coward_.

* * *

Patrik doesn’t sleep that night.

Instead, he curls up under his covers and stares at the fire flickering in the hearth. Higher, taller flames flash through his mind, razing everything to the ground, leaving nothing but scorched earth and blackened stone like in his dreams. Even when he closes his eyes, fire licks at the insides of his lids.

When he isn’t thinking of fire, he thinks of Nikolaj. Of his wings, fully spread and quivering, twitching under Patrik’s touch. Of the near-pained relief on his face at finally being let out of his cell. Of the way he kissed, inexperienced but enthusiastic.

Of the way his face had crumpled when Patrik told him no.

Patrik tells himself, over and over, that it’s what he had to do. That his father’s word is law, and following it is Patrik’s duty as crown prince. Nikolaj is a creature from the Dark, he’s dangerous, and keeping him locked away is the right thing to do. But the thoughts won’t stick, no matter how many times he repeats them.

* * *

Patrik makes it four days. Four dragging days during which he can barely pay attention to anything more than a few paces in front of him; three sleepless nights that only end when even his racing brain eventually succumbs to exhaustion. Those nights he doesn’t dream, just wakes with a pounding in his head and a thickness at the back of his throat.

On the fourth night, he grabs his cloak and the little iron keyring hidden inside his wardrobe. A days-long blizzard has made the castle unnaturally cold, even with all the fireplaces lit and tended to, and Patrik draws the cloak a little tighter around himself when a chill raises gooseflesh on the back of his neck.

He doesn’t really know what the fuck he’s doing. But his legs carry him down to the dungeons, past the lone guard posted at the entrance. He keeps his eyes averted, but Patrik’s skin crawls as he strides through the dungeon towards the wrought iron door.

When he opens the door, the first thing he notices is the ice creeping along the walls. Tendrils of it even reach up the stone steps, clawing towards the door but never quite touching it. A shiver runs down Patrik’s spine as he steps into the stairwell. The air is cold and bitter, as though he’s standing outside in the winter chill, and he shivers again and pulls the cloak tighter as he descends.

Patrik steps out of the stairwell and sees nothing but a pair of massive black wings, curled awkwardly on the stone floor, as far from the open cell as possible.

“Nikolaj?” It comes out soft, breaking towards the end. Patrik swallows.

The wings on the ground twitch, and fold in even tighter. Hiding Nikolaj from view. Patrik’s heart clenches, his eyes stinging with tears he can’t allow himself to shed. He steps closer and lifts his lantern to cast more light, noticing that the one he left yesterday has been knocked across the room, cold and dark and broken.

He tries again. “Nikolaj, I—” His throat closes. Fuck, he doesn’t know how to say this.

The wings shift, then slowly start to move. They hang heavy as Nikolaj pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, eyes wild and furious as he turns his head in Patrik’s direction. His cheeks are frozen over with tears, his teeth bared like a wild animal. “Leave me the _fuck_ alone,” he snarls. His wings start trembling. “I want nothing to do with you.”

Patrik takes a deep, aching breath that won’t fill his lungs. Breathes out just as slowly. “I’m sorry,” he says, and before Nikolaj’s wild anger can start burning even hotter, he tugs the keyring out of his pocket.

Nikolaj’s mouth snaps shut. He blinks at Patrik, the ice clinging to his lashes making his eyes shine even brighter. “Is that . . . ?” 

“You were right,” Patrik tells him, moving forward on unsteady legs. Nikolaj scrambles until he’s perched on his knees, wings folded awkwardly behind him. He’s still just _staring_, head tipping up as Patrik approaches. There’s a fragility to him, so much that Patrik’s afraid of shattering him if he moves too quickly. “It’s not—I can’t keep you in here.”

“Patrik,” Nikolaj whispers hoarsely.

Patrik falls to one knee less than an arm’s length from Nikolaj. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and reaches behind Nikolaj for the padlock holding his collar shut.

It unlocks with a soft, muted click. Hands shaking, Patrik opens the collar and gently removes it, revealing the pale skin of Nikolaj’s throat. Then he drops it unceremoniously to the ground, almost wincing at the clatter of it and the chain.

Before he can blink his back’s slamming hard against the stone floor. Instinctive panic flares up in Patrik’s chest—then Nikolaj kisses him, hard and messy, and Patrik instinctively wraps both arms around his waist and drags him even closer. He licks into Nikolaj’s mouth, savouring the shudder that runs through Nikolaj’s body.

Nikolaj breaks off with a gasp. He rests his ice-stained cheek against Patrik’s, gulping down air. Apparently he hasn’t figured out how to kiss and breathe at the same time. That’s . . . kind of adorable. Patrik grins up at the high stone ceilings, tightening his arms around Nikolaj’s waist until he wheezes. Disobeying his father feels worth it for this moment in time alone.

“Thank you,” Nikolaj says breathlessly. He arches, rubbing his cheek against Patrik’s, trembling under Patrik’s hands. “Thank you, _thank you_—”

He buries his face in Patrik’s neck, and Patrik spreads both hands wide across his back and ignores the cold feeling of tears against his skin.

“We should go,” Patrik murmurs, when Nikolaj isn’t shaking so hard. “We have to get you outside.”

Nikolaj heaves in a breath. Then he pushes up with both hands on Patrik’s chest, ridiculously light despite the size of his wings. His eyes are nearly glowing, and he nods decisively. “I need to get back to the woods.” He flexes his wings and scowls, turning his head and glaring at his dramatically flaring feathers. “I don’t think I can fly right now, though.”

Shit, Patrik was kind of afraid of that.

“I need to get you past the guard, first,” Patrik says. He tips his head back, frowning at the ceiling as he traces circles on Nikolaj’s waist. An idea starts forming in his head. “Hey. Get off?”

Reluctantly, Nikolaj climbs off him. He stands in the centre of the room, small and pale, and once Patrik’s on his feet he can’t help himself; he ducks in close, tipping Nikolaj’s chin up and pressing a soft, insistent kiss to his lips. Nikolaj sighs into it, cold hands curling around Patrik’s wrist, mindful of the claws but tight enough to keep him there.

After a second too long, Patrik pulls away. “Wait here,” he murmurs, ignoring how big and dark Nikolaj’s eyes look with his pupils so blown.

Then he heads back up the stairwell. He strides purposefully through the dungeon, holding himself like a prince. Not that he doesn’t usually, but he makes more of a conscious effort this time. 

“Hey,” he says, catching the guard’s attention. “Find my manservant. Tell him I want him outside my chambers in half an hour.” The guard stares at him, wide-eyed, and Patrik narrows his eyes, hardening his features into the perfect mask of intimidation. Technically guards aren’t meant to be his errand-boys, but he’s also the prince. Guardsmen are whatever he says they are. “_Now_.”

The guard stammers out apologies, acquiescence, and then practically runs off. Patrik watches him go, waiting until he’s out of sight before heading back and taking the stairs two at a time to get back to Nikolaj.

Nikolaj, who’s cleaned out his cell and has all his belongings—all the things Patrik brought to him—bundled against his bare chest.

“Uh.” Patrik feels his face heat, inexplicably. “Are you bringing all that?”

Frost spreads over Nikolaj’s cheekbones. “What?” He stares at his belongings, then glances almost self-consciously up at Patrik. “They’re mine, I wanna keep them.”

Oh, that’s—that’s _cute_. “Nevermind,” Patrik says, struggling not to smile. “It’s nothing.” The worst thing isn’t even how painfully endearing it is, but how much it makes Patrik _want_. Nikolaj caring so much about a few functionally worthless possessions—especially coupled with the fact that Patrik gave him those possessions—satisfies some ugly part of Patrik he doesn’t really want to acknowledge.

He heads up the stairwell, Nikolaj following near-silently behind him. When they step into the (thankfully empty) dungeons, Nikolaj crowds closer, forehead bumping against Patrik’s back.

“What is your obsession with _fire_?” he hisses. His wings rustle noisily.

“Huh?” Patrik glances back, and Nikolaj’s eyes are reflecting torchlight. He glares, first at the torches lining the wall, then at Patrik. “Oh. Because we need to see?”

Nikolaj makes a face and shuffles even closer, so his bare arm is pressed against the sleeve of Patrik’s shirt. 

Oh. Patrik fights down another smile. And the urge to kiss Nikolaj until he’s dizzy. Instead he lengthens his strides until they’re at the stairs leading up out of the dungeons. “C’mon,” he says as they step into the castle proper, glancing down the shadowed corridors. Most of the castle is asleep, this late at night, but there will always be guards patrolling and other serving staff doing their nighttime work. “It’s going to be tough getting to my room without anyone seeing.”

He walks forward. Nikolaj doesn’t follow.

When Patrik turns, Nikolaj’s giving him an odd, off-balance look. Narrowed eyes, jaw trembling. He cocks his head, angling his shoulders—his entire body, Patrik’s training tells him—like he’s preparing to run. “That’s not the woods.” He sounds wary.

“I can’t really get you back to the woods right now,” Patrik says honestly. Going through the castle with Nikolaj is one thing, but through the city itself? Anyone with a window could see, and that’s too many eyes. “You can go back yourself once your wings work.”

Nikolaj opens his mouth. Closes it. “So you’re not gonna just keep me captive in your room, instead?”

“Of course not.” Patrik’s willing to admit he’s kind of a bastard, but—not _that_ kind of bastard. “Just, y’know, until your wings work again and you can fly home.” He waits for Nikolaj’s expression to change—and it does, but not the way Patrik was expecting. Now he looks almost embarrassed, and they’re close enough Patrik can see the frost glinting on the tips of his ears. Patrik can’t shove down his crooked smirk, or the suggestive lilt in his voice when he says, “I mean, unless you _want_—”

“Shut up.” Nikolaj’s cheeks gleam white, though, and the dark, possessive thing in Patrik’s chest is definitely _interested_. Among other parts of him.

He turns away. “Stay close,” he says a bit shakily, and starts off down the corridor.

It's a testament to just how cold the lingering blizzard has made the castle that they barely encounter anyone. Nobody wants to be out of bed in this kind of chill. A couple times Patrik has Nikolaj duck into an alcove, or behind a corner, as a couple of guards make their rounds or a maid bundled in ragged furs hurries past. Aside from that, the wide corridors of the castle are empty.

They reach Patrik’s chambers without incident, and Patrik breathes out a sigh of relief as he pushes open one of his vast double doors and ushers Nikolaj inside. Once Nikolaj’s through Patrik slams the door shut and locks it, leaning back against the wood and breathing hard.

His heart’s hammering, and he thinks maybe the guilt of disobeying his father will hit. It doesn’t.

Nikolaj walks further into the room almost gingerly, footsteps silent on the polished stone floors. He seems a little lost, not venturing too far in any one direction, turning to inspect the entire room with sharp eyes and swift, birdlike movements of his head. “This is where you sleep?”

Patrik ducks past him, towards the lingering embers in the hearth. “Yeah.” He stokes the fire to life, adds a few more logs. Then, with a backwards glance at Nikolaj’s wide, wary eyes, he puts up the metal grate. 

“It’s nice,” Nikolaj says quietly. When Patrik stands and turns back to him, he’s still standing awkwardly in the centre of the room, staring at everything like he doesn’t know where to start.

Well, Patrik has one idea. He approaches Nikolaj, easily sidestepping his folded wings and coming around so they’re facing each other. Nikolaj’s head tips up, and he stares at Patrik with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. With nothing between them, it’s even more obvious how small and slender Nikolaj is in comparison. 

“Hey,” Patrik says, finally letting himself smile properly. “Can I kiss you?” He’s very aware, suddenly, that Nikolaj—or at least this version of Nikolaj, since the whole Valravn thing still confuses him—hasn’t actually done anything before this.

The possessive part of Patrik _really_ likes that. The rest of him, with actual sense, is terrified of fucking up.

Nikolaj blinks at him. A grin spreads slow and languid across his face, and Patrik’s a little breathless. “Okay.”

Patrik cups his jaw in both hands, thumbs sweeping over the frost on his cheeks. It’s not bitterly cold, just cool, and it melts beneath his touch. Nikolaj’s eyes flutter shut, pale lashes fanning out over his cheeks. Any ideas Patrik had about taking this slow and being gentle go out the window.

He crushes their mouths together almost desperately. Nikolaj makes a tiny, needy sound and kisses back just as fiercely. It’s all open mouths, tongue and teeth, sloppy and messy—undignified, exactly the way a prince isn’t supposed to kiss. Patrik bites at Nikolaj’s lip and licks into his mouth and shoves all thought of what he’s _supposed_ to do out of his mind.

Nikolaj moans, choked and breathless, and Patrik curls both hands around the cool skin of his waist to drag him closer as he breaks the kiss to bite a trail down his jaw. “Fuck,” Nikolaj gasps out, hands gripping Patrik’s shoulders. His claws are sharp points of pressure, not quite breaking through Patrik’s shirt. “Keep—keep doing that.”

Patrik laughs against his skin, latches his teeth around a spot just under Nikolaj’s ear, and _sucks_.

“_Oh_—” Nikolaj’s hips buck. He whines in Patrik’s ear, the sound almost inhuman. “You—”

A knock on the door jolts Patrik away. He rears back, panting, and sees Nikolaj staring at him with huge eyes. “Go—go hide behind my bed,” Patrik manages, digging his fingers a little too hard into Nikolaj’s waist. The violent shudder he gets in response makes it all the more difficult to move away. “Out of sight. I’ll get rid of him.”

When Patrik steps back, Nikolaj sways towards him. Then he shakes his head, and, with a blatant glance at Patrik’s mouth, he does as he’s told.

Patrik takes a deep breath. Then he marches towards his door, unlocks it, and opens it just enough to see his manservant waiting outside. Right. He’d almost forgotten about that. It was mostly an excuse. Well, might as well make the most of it now.

“Sire?”

“Bring up whatever’s left from dinner,” Patrik says, steeling his voice into something commanding and distant. “And don’t wake me up tomorrow.” Actually, since he has no idea how long Nikolaj will be here before his wings are working again, “don’t come in here without knocking for the next little while, actually. Until I tell you it’s okay.”

His manservant nods, and disappears silently the way only well-trained castle staff can. Patrik closes the door behind him, locks it, and leans both hands against the carved wood while he breathes.

There’s no way his manservant doesn’t think he has someone up here. It’s not entirely untrue, but Patrik’s not fucking his guest, which is definitely what his manservant is bound to think.

Well, he’s not fucking him _yet_.

Patrik shakes his head, forcing himself to calm down. He’s not fucking him at _all_. That’s moving way too fast for someone who’s only existed a few months, no matter how ancient he actually is.

“He’s bringing food up here?” Patrik turns to see Nikolaj climbing gracefully over the bed. He slips off and pads over to Patrik with wide eyes and a burgeoning grin on his face, wings fluttering excitedly. His arms drape over Patrik’s shoulders and Patrik instinctively grabs his waist, easy as breathing as though they’ve been touching like this for years. His eyes drop to Patrik’s mouth, head cocking slightly.

Fuck, Patrik wants to kiss him. But his manservant will be back soon, and he’s not in the mood to get interrupted again.

“Later,” he mutters, when Nikolaj’s gaze doesn’t return to his eyes. “After he’s gone.”

Nikolaj scowls, and makes a little whining noise in the back of his throat as Patrik steps away. Claws snag briefly on the fabric of Patrik’s shirt. Then Nikolaj lets him go, glaring at him with eerily blue eyes. 

Well, nobody’s ever gotten mad at Patrik before because they couldn’t keep kissing him. It’s a decidedly satisfying feeling. Probably more than it should be, but Patrik’s willing to accept his own arrogance.

His manservant shows up not long after with a tray of leftovers from dinner; beef stew, steamed vegetables, crusts of bread. Patrik takes it with a quick thanks and balances it on one arm while he locks the door. Then he turns, and Nikolaj’s already moving towards him, eyes locked on the food.

“Here.” Patrik sets the tray on the table. Not in front of one of the chairs, because he’s pretty sure sitting in one of those with Nikolaj’s wings would be a feat. Nikolaj doesn’t seem to care; he approaches, pressing close against Patrik’s side, glancing up at him like he’s waiting for . . . permission? “You can eat as much as you want,” Patrik tells him, backing away. “I already ate, I’m not hungry.” 

“Oh,” Nikolaj says, short and breathless like it’s been punched out of him. His eyes flick to Patrik one more time, a strange expression on his face—then he turns back to the food, and practically devours it.

Patrik settles on the edge of his bed, legs sprawled out in front of him. It’s kind of funny, watching Nikolaj eat. He’s somehow dainty and ravenous at the same time, and he clearly enjoys the food, even though it’s pretty standard fare. And, well. There’s that thing in Patrik’s chest again, smug and satisfied at having provided something for Nikolaj that he wants.

He’s ignoring that _thing_.

“Hey.” Nikolaj’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, and Patrik meets Nikolaj’s eyes to see he’s mostly finished eating. “You, uh.” Frost creeps up his cheeks. “Probably didn’t know this, but . . . bringing me food, watching me eat it—” He glances down at the tray in front of him, covered in breadcrumbs, the bowl of stew completely empty. “That’s a courting gesture to me.”

Patrik swallows, feeling his face heat. “Um.”

Nikolaj’s wings flutter. He keeps staring down at the table, mouth twisted up in embarrassment. “And the other stuff. Especially bringing me blankets, helping me make a nest?” Finally, his gaze flicks to Patrik again, eyes bright in the soft light. “And the grooming.”

“I didn’t know that I was—” Patrik swallows, the words sticking in his throat. His face is on fire. “Courting you.”

Nikolaj shakes his head, short and sharp. His eyes drop. “No, I know that.” Then he looks up once again, and his gaze is piercing, awakening warring instincts in Patrik—to flee from the danger, and to press against that intensity until it breaks. He does neither. Even as Nikolaj pushes away from the table and approaches, coming to a stop an arm’s length away, Patrik stays still and silent. “Are you courting me now, though?”

“Yes.” He’s surprised how quickly it comes out, how surely.

Nikolaj, apparently, isn’t. He just grins, showing the pointed tips of his teeth. “Good.”

Then he climbs onto Patrik’s lap, weighing barely more than a feather, and kisses him so hard they both groan. Patrik kisses back, wraps one arm around Nikolaj’s waist and snakes the other around his shoulders to wind fingers into his soft hair. It’s so easy to grip a little too tight, angle Nikolaj’s head and turn the kiss into something filthy and obscene, licking the roof of his mouth and sucking on his tongue.

A high-pitched whine rises in Nikolaj’s throat. He grinds his hips down against Patrik’s cock, turning his body into a wildfire, and Patrik grips at him even harder and bites down on his lower lip. Nikolaj makes another high, desperate noise, squirms in Patrik’s lap, and Patrik smugly realizes he’ll be the first person to ever hear all these sounds.

He realizes the same thing a second later, but with the part of his brain that’s _not _a raging beast of possessiveness and lust.

Patrik breaks the kiss by turning away. “Nikolaj,” he tries. Nikolaj whines, rubbing his cheek against Patrik’s, grinding down again. When Nikolaj tries capturing his mouth again he tugs Nikolaj back by the hair, cock twitching at the loud, unabashed moan he gets in response. “_Nikolaj_.” His voice is harsher, ragged towards the end.

Nikolaj shivers, and his eyes open halfway. “What, _sire_?”

His tone is mocking, but Patrik feels that fucking word like a punch to the gut. Fucking _hell_. “Don’t,” he snaps, tugging Nikolaj’s hair again. Nikolaj just _goes_, head tipping back to show the delicate arch of his pale neck.

“What?” Nikolaj repeats, breathless and strained. A little annoyed.

“We should slow down,” Patrik says slowly. “You haven’t done this before, right?”

Nikolaj squirms, the frost spreading across his chest, highlighting the edge of his collarbones. “Yeah. So what?” He grinds his hips down clumsily. “I want—” His voice breaks into a groan, feathers flaring as his fingers curl in the collar of Patrik’s shirt.

“_Slow down_.” Patrik releases his hair to get both hands around his waist, fingertips pressing bruises into his cold skin. He drags Nikolaj further back, gritting his teeth at the sudden lack of pressure on his cock. Nikolaj whines, and actually bares his teeth, eyes flashing dangerously. “Nikolaj, do you even know what you’re doing?” He’s trying not to glare, trying to be calm and collected, but Nikolaj’s making that difficult. “This is a _lot_ all at once.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Nikolaj’s wings flare out, his head cocks to the side. “Do you think I can’t handle it?” Sharp claws press against the flesh of Patrik’s shoulders; not quite hard enough to break skin, but enough to hurt. “I’m a harbinger of death. I can take anything you give me.”

Patrik, for all that he’s been trained to keep his emotions in check, has never done well with a challenge.

He drags Nikolaj back against his cock and surges forward to kiss him, muffling Nikolaj’s moan. Nikolaj’s so responsive to him; keening when Patrik licks into him, trembling when Patrik winds both arms up behind his back and buries his fingers in soft, short feathers. “Are you sure?” he murmurs against Nikolaj’s jaw, in between nipping at his cool, unmarked skin. “Tell me you’re sure.”

Nikolaj rolls his hips, moaning against Patrik’s hair. He’s a quick study on the rhythm of this. “I want you,” he says breathlessly, “all of you.”

Patrik wraps an arm tightly around his waist and surges to his feet, barely feeling Nikolaj’s weight. He grins at Nikolaj’s squeak, then spins them and half-crawls onto the bed, only dropping Nikolaj when they’re high up on the bed. Nikolaj’s head hits the pillow, wings unfurling and sprawling wide beneath him, and Patrik smirks down at his dazed, wide-eyed look.

“Woah,” Nikolaj breathes. “That was. Um.”

Patrik almost laughs. “What?”

Nikolaj squirms, holding Patrik’s stare. “I really liked that.” His eyes squeeze shut, head tilting back to bare his throat once more. He paws carefully at Patrik’s back, claws trailing lightly over his shirt and sending shivers up his spine. “Can you—come here, _please_.”

He’s asking so sweetly, so earnestly; who would Patrik be to deny him?

Patrik leans in, brushing his lips against Nikolaj’s mouth. Then his jaw, the hollow of his cheek, the curve of his cheekbone, his temple. He trails a path of soft, barely-there kisses down Nikolaj’s throat, smiling against his skin when Nikolaj squirms and bites back a needy whine. Then Patrik bites down, _hard_, and winces when Nikolaj’s claws scrape over his skin as the sound of his shirt ripping fills the room.

“Ow.”

Nikolaj huffs out a nervous laugh. “Sorry.”

Well, at least he’s pretty sure Nikolaj didn’t break skin, but it does sting. Just for that Patrik bites him again, sucking a mark into the junction between Nikolaj’s neck and shoulder while Nikolaj shakes beneath him. Part of Patrik wonders whether the mark will even stay, considering how quickly Nikolaj healed from arrow wounds.

Then Nikolaj wraps both legs around Patrik’s waist and grinds his hips against Patrik’s so desperately that Patrik loses his mind for a moment. 

“Calm _down_,” he gasps against Nikolaj’s skin. “We can—we should go slow.”

Nikolaj rocks their hips together with a long, thready moan. “I don’t want _slow_,” he snarls, “I want _you_.” He curls his fingers into Patrik’s shirt, claws ripping through the fabric even more. “_Inside me_.”

All thoughts of being noble, of doing this slowly and sweetly, burn to ash in Patrik’s mind. He crushes his mouth to Nikolaj’s, kissing him violently, all teeth and no finesse. Just as suddenly he pulls back, leaving Nikolaj breathless and gasping as he throws open the bedside cabinet and rummages through the top drawer. His hands find the small glass bottle just in time for Nikolaj to curl a cool hand around the nape of his neck and drag him back down for another kiss.

Patrik indulges him. Kissing Nikolaj sets something alight in him in a way that’s different to anyone he’s ever been with. Nobody has ever been quite so desperate, so shameless; even in rushed, one-time affairs with castle staff or his fellow knights, there’s always been a certain propriety. Like none of them wanted to lose face in front of their prince.

Nikolaj, apparently, has no such reservations. He responds to everything Patrik does, with a vicious shudder or a broken moan, and he kisses back like he’s trying to start a fight.

With one last lingering kiss, Patrik pushes up and back onto his knees. Before Nikolaj can whine at him even more, he fists a hand in Nikolaj’s ragged, strange cloak and tugs at it. “Get this off,” he murmurs, because he wouldn’t even know where to start with Nikolaj’s wings in the way. Then he wrestles off his own tattered shirt, tossing it across the room to be disposed of later.

Nikolaj stares at him, wings shifting and squirming beneath his back, feathers ruffled. Patrik pauses in undoing the laces of his pants to appreciate Nikolaj’s stare; he knows how he looks, big and broad and solid with muscle.

Only for a second, though. “Your cloak,” he says, gaze flicking down to the sheer black fabric where it drapes across the bedsheets. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Nikolaj tugs the collar of it over his head and shimmies until he can slip the whole thing down his body. After a moment of hesitation near his hips, he hooks his thumbs into the waist of his pants and tugs those down too, bending himself near in half to get them off and fling them off the bed.

Patrik’s fingers stutter and still in wrestling with his laces. He drags his gaze over Nikolaj’s pale, naked body, and his skin prickles with heat when he realizes that Nikolaj really is beautiful. Slim but strong, the jut of his hipbones and the grooves of his ribs sharply visible. 

“Don’t stare,” Nikolaj whines, frost spreading down his chest and across his slim, toned shoulders. He shifts, knees digging into Patrik’s hips as he tries to press his thighs together and—conceal himself, maybe? “Stop looking at me like that.”

Patrik raises his eyebrows. “Like what?”

Nikolaj’s face goes blotchy with patches of white. It’s still strangely reminiscent of a blush, and Patrik thinks the white looks much better on him than red would. “I don’t know,” he whispers raggedly, almost a whine. “Like—like you’re about to eat me alive.”

He’s a mess of contradictions. Desperate for Patrik to touch him, demanding of what exactly he wants—but shy and shameful beneath him, too.

Patrik grins. Maybe a little too predatorily, because Nikolaj squirms and tilts his head back to bare his throat. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Before Nikolaj can respond he trails his fingertips over Nikolaj’s hips, down the soft skin of his inner thighs. He runs a knuckle lightly up Nikolaj’s cock, planting his other hand on Nikolaj’s stomach to keep his hips from bucking up too hard.

“Fuck—” Nikolaj’s wings stretch and flare, the tips of his feathers sweeping over the stone floor. “Touch me, _touch me_—”

Patrik wraps a hand loosely around his cock, and Nikolaj’s breathless demands fall apart into whimpers. “Like this?” He twists his wrist, keeps his grip loose just to see the desperation scrunching Nikolaj’s face. 

Nikolaj’s hand shoots down to curl around Patrik’s wrist. His hands are covered in ice, ice that creeps up Patrik’s arm, tingling under his skin but nowhere near cold. “Stop teasing,” Nikolaj begs, “just—fuck me, please.”

Part of Patrik wants to hear him begging even more, until he’s mindless. Until all he can think of is how much he wants the press of Patrik inside him. But he doesn’t want to be too cruel.

This time, at least. Maybe later.

He grabs the bottle he’d retrieved earlier, popping out the little cork stopper. There’s plenty, so he drizzles the oil liberally over his fingers before stopping it up again and dropping the bottle on the corner of the bed. Then he presses the fingers of his other hand against the inside of Nikolaj’s thigh, pushing until Nikolaj spreads his legs a little more.

The high, keening noise Nikolaj makes when Patrik rubs oil-slick fingers over his hole seems extraordinarily loud in the silence of the room, shooting down Patrik’s spine like a lightning bolt straight to his cock. Nikolaj stares open-mouthed at the canopy above Patrik’s bed, eyes huge and dark. “Patrik,” he gasps, fingers twitching over the deep blue bedsheets, feathers trembling.

Patrik settles the urge to surge up and kiss that dumbstruck look off his face, before slowly, carefully working a finger inside him. “Oh,” he murmurs, slipping in to the knuckle, watching the way Nikolaj’s lip quivers, “you’re warm here, too.”

That only seems to fluster Nikolaj more. He squeezes his eyes shut, hands dragging up his face to clutch at his soft, pale hair. “Patrik,” he says again, like he doesn’t know anything else.

Patrik is careful with him. Gentle, in a way he isn’t really feeling. He wants to devastate Nikolaj, _ruin_ him, until he’s nothing but need and feeling and Patrik’s name. But he pets at the sharp bump of Nikolaj’s hipbone and works him over with his fingers as slow as he can manage. First one, then two when Nikolaj’s squirming and grinding down against his hand. 

He crooks his fingers, and Nikolaj’s body jolts as though it’s been struck by lightning. He moans, feet scrabbling on the bedsheets as he tries to get leverage, fingers threading through his own feathers as he looks for something to hold onto. Patrik stares, almost enraptured by just how obvious his pleasure is. He’s by far the most wanton, debauched person Patrik has ever had in his bed. It’s way more alluring than Patrik ever thought that kind of desperation _could_ be.

“Niky,” he says, almost awed. “You’re perfect.”

Nikolaj’s eyes snap open. “What’d you call me?”

“Niky,” Patrik repeats. He runs his hand up Nikolaj’s stomach, sword calluses catching on his soft skin. “Do you not want me to—”

“No, it’s—” Nikolaj tips his head back again. “Thank you.”

Patrik’s not sure a nickname is worth such sincere gratitude, but he’s not about to argue when Nikolaj’s voice sounds so fucking _good_ like that.

He moves his fingers inside Nikolaj again, and again, cataloguing and memorizing every single noise and shiver. When Nikolaj’s gotten desperate again he works in another finger, eyes caught on the line of Nikolaj’s jaw as he rubs his cheek against the pillow and moans like a whore.

When Nikolaj’s taut like a bowstring, feathers shaking almost violently, Patrik slips his fingers out. Nikolaj makes a wounded noise and struggles to lift his head and meet Patrik’s eyes, grasping gently for Patrik’s wrist.

“It’s okay,” Patrik soothes, running a hand over Nikolaj’s hip. He grabs the little bottle again, clumsily pouring more over his palm one-handed as he fumbles his pants down enough to pull out his cock. Nikolaj’s eyes flash as Patrik coats himself in the oil, tongue poking out to wet his lower lip. “This is what you wanted, right?”

“Yes,” Nikolaj says immediately, then presses his lips together, clearly embarrassed by his own eagerness. “Or, um.”

Patrik laughs, and takes pity on him. He grabs Nikolaj by the hips and hauls him onto his lap—probably bending a few feathers, but from Nikolaj’s short, shrill whimper he doubts it’s a problem. He lines his cock up against Nikolaj’s hole, hesitating a moment just to see Nikolaj’s pointed teeth dig into his lower lip. Then he rolls his hips forward, and the head of his cock disappears into the warmth of Nikolaj’s body.

“Oh,” Nikolaj gasps, “oh, fuck, I—”

“What?” Patrik nudges himself further inside, rubbing soothing circles over Nikolaj’s hips as he holds him still. Nikolaj’s trembling all over. “You can take it, right? You can take whatever I give you?” He smirks at the naked shock on Nikolaj’s face, having his words thrown back at him.

Nikolaj digs his knee painfully into Patrik’s ribs, which is probably deserved. “Shut up, shut _up_—” His head thumps back against the pillow, back arching off the bed as Patrik works his cock into him a little further. “Patrik, Patrik—”

Finally, Patrik gets his hips flush with Nikolaj’s ass, and they both moan.

Patrik can’t help himself anymore; he blankets himself over Nikolaj’s body, forearms braced around his head. “You okay?” He doesn’t give Nikolaj a chance to respond before he kisses him, open-mouthed and messy.

Nikolaj kisses back clumsily, wrapping his arms up around Patrik’s back, claws pressing sharp points into the muscle of Patrik’s shoulder. His thighs squeeze Patrik’s waist, his hips hitching in Patrik’s lap. He mumbles a word into Patrik’s mouth, and when Patrik shifts to kissing along the slope of his jaw, he manages to get it out. “_Move_.”

Arousal burns in Patrik’s belly. “Are you sure?” His muscles strain with the effort of not moving, but he can’t forget that Nikolaj’s never done this before. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I won’t . . .” The tips of Nikolaj’s claws press harder against Patrik’s skin, not quite enough to break it. “Um. If you do . . .” 

His voice is small, and Patrik leans up to get a proper look at him. “If I do?”

A violent shudder runs through Nikolaj’s wings, and his eyes shutter away from Patrik’s gaze. “I won’t. Uh. Care.” Then he crudely rolls his hips, and anything Patrik was about to say in response to _that_ stutters and dies on his tongue.

He kisses Nikolaj again, and slowly, carefully, draws his hips back. Then he presses forward in one long thrust, drinking down the helpless noise that spills from Nikolaj’s lips. The warmth of Nikolaj’s mouth, the pressure of his body around Patrik’s cock—Patrik’s drunk from it, head swimming, body languid as it moves in a slow, thorough rhythm. Nikolaj’s clumsy movements begin to match Patrik’s, and it seems he’s a quick study in this.

That, or another version of him has done this before, and his body remembers. Patrik growls at the idea, biting Nikolaj’s lip and fucking into him harder. It doesn’t matter what any other version of the Valravn has done—_this one_ is Patrik’s, moaning and shaking beneath him, writhing onto his cock. 

Patrik only realizes he’s maybe gotten a little too rough when he feels the sharp, stinging pain of Nikolaj’s claws finally breaking skin. He pulls away from the kiss with a gasp, stilling his hips and preparing to apologize—

“No, _no_,” Nikolaj whimpers, thighs flexing around Patrik’s waist. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes fluttering as he struggles to meet Patrik’s stare, claws still digging into his back hard enough to draw blood. “Why’d you _stop_?” 

Patrik’s blood boils. “You—” He doesn’t bother saying anything else, just leans in, teeth latching around an unmarked stretch of Nikolaj’s pale neck. If his marks _will_ last, despite Nikolaj’s apparent healing abilities, Patrik wants to leave him a necklace of bruises and bitemarks to remind him of how thoroughly Patrik has taken him apart. Nikolaj’s fingers score shallow lines down his back, as though he’s trying to do the same.

When Patrik starts fucking him in earnest, Nikolaj cries out and his wings thrash wildly, knocking something off one of the bedside cabinets. Patrik can’t be bothered to check what. He just rolls his hips, chases the heat of Nikolaj’s body around his cock—such a contrast to the cold fingertips dragging down his back.

Then Patrik gets a hand tight around Nikolaj’s thigh, hitches it up to drive into him even deeper. “_Oh_,” Nikolaj gasps. “Oh, that—that’s—“ 

His body spasms around Patrik’s cock, and he comes untouched all over his own stomach.

Patrik’s rhythm stutters. “Nikolaj,” he manages, unable to say any more as Nikolaj lets out a soft, weak moan. He thinks maybe he should stop, knowing that Nikolaj will be oversensitive and sore, but then he thinks of the stinging marks down his back and the way Nikolaj asked why he stopped moving so _desperately_.

So he fucks into Nikolaj even harder, even more thoroughly. He’s not at all surprised when Nikolaj chokes on a moan, weakly rolling his hips into every thrust, hands slipping from Patrik’s sweat-slick back and landing in his own feathers once more.

He’s a fucking sight to behold; covered in glittering frost, his own come white and pearlescent on his belly, fingers twisting and tugging at sleek black feathers. His eyes are shut, lashes fanned over his cheeks, and his pointed teeth are digging so hard into his lower lip Patrik’s worried he may draw blood.

“Look at you,” Patrik says, barely even recognizing his own voice. Nikolaj whimpers, eyes struggling open to reveal blown pupils and a small ring of unearthly blue, and Patrik’s breath leaves him. “You’re something else, Niky.”

It doesn’t last much longer, with Nikolaj looking at him like that. Patrik’s orgasm hits him like a bolt of lightning to the core. He groans, head falling forward into the crook of Nikolaj’s neck as he presses in as deep as he can. His hips keep moving; tiny, rolling motions as he works himself through it, spilling into the heat of Nikolaj’s body.

When it’s all over, Patrik doesn’t get up quite yet. He presses a kiss just beneath Nikolaj’s jaw and feels the rabbit-fast jump of Nikolaj’s pulse against his lips.

But they can’t stay here indefinitely, as much as Patrik may want to, so eventually he gets his arms working again and levers up off Nikolaj’s body and onto his knees. He takes a moment to admire the view; Nikolaj, sprawled out and completely ruined, chest heaving as he stares hazily at the canopy over Patrik’s bed. His entire body is trembling. Patrik would keep him here like this forever, if he could.

Nikolaj makes a wounded noise when Patrik pulls out. “No, wait,” he croaks, grabbing uselessly at whatever part of Patrik he can reach.

Patrik grins, smoothing his hands up Nikolaj’s sides. “I can’t stay there forever.”

He slips Nikolaj off his lap, settling his hips back onto the bedsheets, and Nikolaj’s eyes widen. “O-oh,” he stammers, mouth twisting.

“What?”

Nikolaj squirms. He presses his thighs together, eyes fluttering shut. “You . . . it feels weird.”

Oh. Patrik thinks he gets it. He trails fingertips up Nikolaj’s thigh, smiling when Nikolaj shudders even more. “Good weird?”

Nikolaj makes a face. “Uh. Very good.”

Patrik can’t deny the dark, possessive smugness rearing up in him like a wild animal. There’s something viscerally satisfying about having marked Nikolaj on the inside, too, leaving proof of himself as sure as the greyish bruises on Nikolaj’s throat. Evidence of the new, untouched territory he’s conquered.

“Can you help me up?” Nikolaj arches his back, rolls his shoulders. “My wings, they’re . . .”

Patrik climbs out from between his legs, takes him by the forearms and pulls him upright into a sitting position. Nikolaj makes another face, squeezing his thighs together as his wings fold awkwardly behind him.

“It’s still—oh.” His pale fingers curl tight around Patrik’s wrists. “That’s.” Another shudder runs through him, and though Patrik’s pretty sure he can’t feel the cold, his skin is covered in gooseflesh. “And I’m sore.” He shifts his hips, scowling at Patrik like it’s _his_ fault.

To be fair, it is, but—

“You’re the one who didn’t want me to slow down,” Patrik reminds him, gentle but teasing. He leans in to press a kiss to the frost over Nikolaj’s cheek, grinning when he feels it melting against the warmth of his lips. “It _was_ a lot to take, wasn’t it.” It’s not exactly chivalrous, fishing for compliments, but Nikolaj’s rewriting all his rules anyway.

“Shut up.” More frost creeps up the replace what was melted by Patrik’s mouth. Nikolaj looks away from him, mouth twisted in clear embarrassment; it’s ridiculously endearing. “I—I wanna say something. Something important.”

His tone has dropped, more serious, and Patrik’s mood shifts. “What?”

With a soft sigh, Nikolaj brings his legs up and shifts gracefully onto his knees. His cool hand curls around the back of Patrik’s neck and pulls him in. A sound rumbles in his chest as he rubs his cheek against Patrik’s; the frost of his blush flakes off and melts, running down Patrik’s jaw like an icy tear. “I want to thank you.” He draws back just far enough to rest their foreheads together, the cold tip of his nose dragging over Patrik’s skin as he moves. “For freeing me.” The pads of his fingertips trail down the sensitive skin of Patrik’s inner forearm, resting right over his stuttering pulse. “I know how you humans are about your kings, and your fathers, but. You still did it.”

Oh. Patrik’s hands begin to shake. He’s starting to realize the gravity of what he’s done, finally, but the guilt still doesn’t hit. Instead his heart feels buoyant, floating and bumping up against the confines of his ribcage. “I had to,” he manages, almost surprised by how true it is.

“I know,” Nikolaj says. Whatever he knows, Patrik doesn’t. “Thank you.”

He nuzzles their cheeks together, then finds Patrik’s mouth with his own. The kiss is soft this time, Nikolaj’s mouth tentative, and Patrik remembers that Nikolaj’s still figuring all this out. He threads his fingers in Nikolaj’s hair and angles his head to deepen the kiss, turning it lazy and languid and heady.

Nikolaj’s the one who breaks the kiss, breathing hard as he pushes his forehead against Patrik’s. “Sorry. Sorry, I want to.” He pulls back, and Patrik opens his eyes to see Nikolaj staring at him with bright eyes. “But . . . uh. Maybe you’re right about taking things slow.” He shifts on his knees, face scrunching up. 

Privately, Patrik thinks it’s a little too late for that. But Nikolaj has a point; exhaustion’s starting to hit him too, physically and mentally. “Do you want to sleep?”

“Yeah.” Nikolaj grins, flashing pointed teeth. “Besides, we’ve got tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna be insatiable now, huh?” Really, though. That’s the opposite of a problem.

Before they climb into bed Patrik tugs off his pants, using them as a makeshift rag to wipe the mess from Nikolaj’s body. He tosses them across the room with the rest of their clothing, then turns back to see Nikolaj sitting small and delicate in the centre of the bed, with his massive wings flared out behind him.

“Okay,” Patrik says, “I don’t know how this is going to work.”

Nikolaj cocks his head, staring at the bed. “Oh, I’ve got it.” He grabs Patrik’s hands, tugging him up the bed with surprising strength. “Here, lay down—no, face the other way, idiot—”

Patrik ends up curled on his side on top of the sheets. The sweat’s cooling on his skin, and even with the fire in the hearth his room is winter-cold; he shivers, hair raising on his arms. “Usually humans sleep _under_ the sheets,” he drawls, turning to look at Nikolaj over his shoulder. “So we don’t freeze to death during the night.”

Nikolaj huffs out a quiet laugh. “You’ll be fine.” He curls himself around Patrik’s back, the cold tip of his nose pressing to the top of Patrik’s spine. His hand is surprisingly warm where it wraps around Patrik’s stomach. “You don’t need blankets.” Then one of his massive wings stretches out, draping over Patrik like a thick blanket, softer than silk and smelling of fresh pines and a new frost. “Is that better?”

A lump lodges itself in Patrik’s throat. He’s already warming up, and Nikolaj’s wing is a comfortable weight on his body.

“I’m not usually the one being held, in this situation,” Patrik admits. 

Nikolaj’s silent behind him. His arm wraps tighter around Patrik’s waist. It’s a close, quiet moment, and Patrik doesn’t think he’s ever felt more vulnerable, or more safe. Those two things don’t usually come together.

He lets his eyes shut, lets the exhaustion hit him fully. It’s been a long, stressful few days since Nikolaj first kissed him below the dungeons. Now the tension’s gone, and Patrik’s ready to sleep for about a week. The warm cocoon of Nikolaj’s wing, and Nikolaj pressed up against his back, is only making that worse.

Half-asleep, he barely hears when Nikolaj murmurs his name. But he feels the brush of Nikolaj’s lips against his skin as he says it, and the shiver that runs up his spine wakes him more fully.

Patrik folds his hand over Nikolaj’s where it’s resting on his stomach. “Yeah?”

Nikolaj’s voice is quiet and uncertain when he speaks. “How long does it take humans to fall in love?”

The question hits like a punch to the chest. “I don’t know,” Patrik says truthfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before.”

A long pause. Patrik’s heart races. “When you figure it out, can you tell me?”

Patrik squeezes Nikolaj’s hand. He knows what he wants to say. But words have never been his strong suit, especially not words about his own emotions. Half the time he’s not even supposed to have those; princes are impartial and calm and collected, because anything else is a weakness to be exploited. But . . . he’s not really a prince when he’s with Nikolaj. He’s just Patrik. Just a human.

“I guess it can’t take very long,” he says, haltingly, hesitantly. “Because I don’t think it took me very long to fall in love with you.”

Nikolaj makes a broken noise against his back. “Oh.” Then, so quietly Patrik can hardly hear it, “me neither.”

Patrik breathes in the scent of the woods, and falls asleep to the comfort of Nikolaj curled around his back.

* * *

Three days pass before Nikolaj’s wings are strong enough to at least carry him back to the woods. Those three days are a whirlwind of Patrik trying to keep everything under control—training with the knights, meeting with his father, dealing with his manservant’s questions that aren’t questions. And, worst of all, Nikolaj.

Best of all Nikolaj, too. But he’s a handful—literally—and just as insufferable and insatiable as Patrik thought he’d be.

Patrik puts all that excess energy to good use, though. He teaches Nikolaj how to get on his knees, returns the favour by licking into him and making him shake. Once, he makes Nikolaj come undone with his fingers alone, and that’s a pretty satisfying feeling.

The night of the third day, Patrik wraps himself up in a fur-lined cloak. After a second of deliberation he grabs his sword belt, buckling it around his waist. He doesn’t _want_ to use it, but if someone tries to keep Nikolaj from escaping, well—it should probably be more alarming how unwilling he is to let that happen, but Patrik doesn’t dwell on it.

“Ready?” he asks, turning towards Nikolaj.

Nikolaj frowns. He’s got his canvas bag, carrying most of the things Patrik gifted him, and he quickly checks through it. He flexes his wings, carefully spreading them in the vast open space of Patrik’s room. Firelight glints off each feather, highlighting their perfectly smooth edges. “I think so,” he says quietly. He’s been quiet all night, since Patrik had dinner delivered and they ate in silence. 

Patrik steps towards him. “Niky.” At the nickname, Nikolaj’s eyes snap up from where they’d been trained on the ground. Patrik takes another step and reaches up, cupping Nikolaj’s jaw and sweeping his thumb across his lower lip. “You okay?”

White creeps up the tips of Nikolaj’s ears. “I dunno.” He shrugs, wings rustling against his back. “Just—this has been nice.”

_Oh_. Patrik can’t keep from smiling. He takes Nikolaj’s face in both hands, smoothing both thumbs across his sharp cheekbones before leaning in and kissing him. Nikolaj responds immediately, hands curling around Patrik’s wrists and lips parting against Patrik’s. Patrik kisses him slowly and carefully.

When he pulls back, Nikolaj’s eyes are still closed. “You have to go back to the Dark.”

Nikolaj nods. He presses his cheek into Patrik’s palm, and doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ll come see you,” Patrik continues. “Not as much, but when I can.”

Another nod.

“I love you,” Patrik says, and Nikolaj’s carefully calm expression crumbles as he melts against Patrik’s body. His face tucks against Patrik’s chest, arms curled up between their bodies, and Patrik holds him even closer.

“Humans are so bad at thinking about the future,” Nikolaj mumbles, his words muffled in Patrik’s jacket. “Patrik, do you—have you even thought about what happens _next_?”

He’s trembling. Patrik wraps him up tighter, drops a kiss to the softness of his hair. “We’ll figure it out.”

“No—” Nikolaj wiggles back, until there’s enough distance that he can tilt his head up and meet Patrik’s gaze. His eyes are huge and eerie in the flickering firelight, his mouth set in a tense line. “You remember what I am, right? A creature of omen?” His wings flutter, feathers flaring out. “I can’t just ignore the future. I can’t pretend everything is going to be fine when I _know_—”

“Niky.” Nikolaj’s mouth snaps shut. “We’ll figure it out. I promise. Okay? Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

Nikolaj looks up at him for a second longer with that same troubled expression. Then he wraps a slim hand around the back of Patrik’s neck and drags him down into a slow, sweet kiss that almost feels like a goodbye.

“We should go now,” Patrik says when he pulls back.

“Right.”

Patrik checks the hall beyond his door and finds it empty. Makes sense; tonight is even colder than it has been over the past week, and nobody’s going to be wandering the chilled halls of the castle without reason. He holds the door open wider and ushers Nikolaj through, then closes it behind him and starts off in the direction of the parapet nearest the forest, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Something cold slips into his free hand, and it takes Patrik a second to realize it’s Nikolaj’s fingers, twining with his.

Patrik squeezes his hand, and Nikolaj crowds closer. They walk through the halls in relative silence and only come across a couple of patrolling guards once; Patrik shoves Nikolaj back around a corner, flattens him against the wall as the guards turn a corner at the far end of the hallway. Then they keep going, until they reach the wooden door leading out to the southern parapets.

With a quick check through the door to see if there’s anyone outside, Patrik tugs Nikolaj through.

Nikolaj makes a choked sound, almost like a sob catching at the back of his throat. Patrik turns to see him staring up at the sky, eyes big and bright as they reflect the starlight. He’s . . . beautiful, in the moonlight. His pale skin looks almost silvery, his wings gleaming a deep blue. That blue shifts and shimmers as his wings flare and stretch, frigid wind ruffling through his feathers, snowflakes speckling his wings like tiny stars.

“Oh,” Nikolaj murmurs. He takes a step forward, hand going slack in Patrik’s grasp. Another step, past Patrik, towards the battlements. “It’s—”

Slowly, his wings extend, massive and intimidating against the swaying pines of the forest. For a second Patirk’s almost expecting him to take off right then, disappear into the sky—

But Nikolaj drops his bag, whirls around and throws himself at Patrik, arms wrapping around his neck and dragging him down into a clumsy kiss. Patrik grabs his waist automatically, kisses back just as desperately. 

Slowly, Nikolaj pulls back. “Thank you,” he says. Then, quieter, “I’ll see you?”

He’s uncertain, and Patrik’s heart kind of breaks at the questioning lilt of his tone. “Yeah. You’ll see me.” He sweeps his hands up and down Nikolaj’s sides. “You should go now, though. Before anyone sees us.”

A frown tugs at Nikolaj’s mouth. “Patrik, I—” He stops. Breathes in deep, wings flaring with the movement of his shoulders. “Okay.”

He steps silently out of Patrik’s reach, arms slipping from around his shoulders. There’s something delicate, almost fragile, about the way he approaches the battlements, wings folded sleek and smooth against his back. He grabs the bag in one hand and his other touches the stone, slim fingers splaying out; Patrik can see frost creeping over his fingers, spreading across the stone. Nikolaj’s wings glint with ice as he spreads them.

He glances back at Patrik, blue eyes nearly silver. Then he steps up onto the battlements, standing there with his tattered cloak billowing in the wind, and Patrik’s heart thumps painfully hard. Nikolaj looks wild, dangerous, his massive wings spread against the black sky, skin almost as white as snow.

Then he crouches, and leaps off the battlements and into the open air.

Patrik almost stumbles in his rush to the battlements, leaning over to watch Nikolaj fly towards the forest. He’s so fast that soon he’s only a black shape above the swaying pines. Patrik watches until he disappears, hands pressed against the frost Nikolaj left behind.

* * *

The first few days without Nikolaj are . . . lonely. Patrik only had him for three days, but already he misses coming back into his room and Nikolaj pouncing on him the second he’s through the door, or seeing Nikolaj lounging on his bed with his wings flopping on the floor. And—he flushes thinking about it—he misses the feeling of Nikolaj curled around his back at night, wing draped over him like a blanket.

But he can’t be stupid about this, as much as he wants to. He trains with the knights and deals with kingdom problems, and mentions to his father wanting to go on a short solo hunting trip into the woods. Patrik’s always liked hunting on his own. 

A week later, he heads into the forest with his bow and his sword. It’s difficult, fighting the instinct to stay to the outskirts, but Patrik travels towards the deepest part of the forest and keeps going. When the sun starts setting, he gives one glance back, imagining he can see the walls of the castle through the trees.

“Be back later,” he says to nobody. “Hopefully.”

Then he curls a trembling hand around the hilt of his sword and ventures deeper into the woods.

He doesn’t stop, even as the pale golden sunset fades into black and twinkling stars. Even as the trees climb taller, blocking out any light. Even as a chill burrows under Patrik’s skin and climbs up his spine, spreading to every inch of his body.

Feathers rustle overhead. Patrik glances up and sees hundreds of tiny black eyes, watching him carefully. Ravens. Sitting side by side on the frost-coated branches, heads cocked.

Funny how last time that made him wary.

“Nikolaj?” Patrik walks a bit more confidently, snow crunching beneath his boots. “Niky? You there?”

“You came.” 

Patrik stops at the soft, surprised sound of Nikolaj’s voice behind him. When he turns Nikolaj’s standing on top of the snow behind him, wings folded against his back. His feathers are tipped with frost, his hair nearly white with it, and he looks . . . different. Fuller, brighter; not at all the hollow, gaunt thing that was locked beneath the castle.

He also looks shocked to see Patrik at all. Patrik furrows his brow, frowning as he takes a step closer. “Yeah? I said I would come.” Another step. Nikolaj doesn’t move, watching Patrik approach with wide eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Nikolaj shrugs. “I mean, I know humans.” He shifts, twisting his frosted fingers together. “You’re, y’know. Fickle.”

_Oh_. “Maybe,” Patrik says, taking a few more steps, close enough now that Nikolaj’s head tilts up to look at him. It’s so easy then, to curl his gloved hands around Nikolaj’s face, thumbs over his cheekbones. “But we’re pretty loyal, too.”

Nikolaj’s eyes close, and he reaches up to curl his hands around Patrik’s wrists. A smile spreads slowly over his face. “I guess you are.”

Both of them are smiling when Patrik leans in and kisses him. 

“I have something to show you,” Nikolaj murmurs when they part, still close enough that his lips brush Patrik’s as he speaks. Patrik opens his eyes as Nikolaj steps away, hands dropping from Nikolaj’s cheeks to curl loosely around his bare shoulders.

Patrik grins. “What?”

Nikolaj steps back again. Out of reach. “Follow me and I’ll show you.” He turns, glancing over his shoulder expectantly, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You’re gonna like it.”

So Patrik follows, watching Nikolaj as he makes his way through the forest, so graceful Patrik’s almost breathless. He walks over the snow instead of crushing through it like Patrik, and when he trails his hands over tree trunks and pushes aside branches, frost spreads from his fingertips. There’s an ease to the way he moves that fills Patrik with guilt, for keeping him from this for so long. He belongs here.

They travel through the trees, the ravens hopping from branch to branch above them. Patrik instinctively keeps an eye on the sky as they walk; he notices when the moon disappears completely, when the sky becomes nothing but black, scattered with stars and falling snow. The chill of the Dark never quit reaches him, though.

Eventually they come to a clearing, the trees opening to a clear sky. “There,” Nikolaj says softly, stopping at the edge of the trees. Patrik comes up beside him, squinting into the darkness. It takes a second to realize there’s a little wooden cabin at the far edge of the clearing.

That’s . . . strange. They’re fully in the Dark now. There shouldn’t be anything here but forest.

“Come look,” Nikolaj says with a grin, hand slipping into Patrik’s and tugging him forward. He brings Patrik to the cabin, and—with a smile that’s almost nervous—swings open the door and gestures him through.

Patrik steps through, feeling a bit dumbstruck. On the inside, the cabin looks like a hunter’s cabin with an unusually high ceiling; the walls are made of a dark wood, the floor covered in thick, woven rugs. Dim starlight filters through a glass window. A stone hearth is set into one wall, a fire axe leaning next to it. Really the only thing that doesn’t look like it belongs is the bed, massive and covered in rich blankets instead of furs.

Patrik turns to Nikolaj to see him standing near the door, the smile on his face caught somewhere between smug and shy. “It’s nice, right?”

“Why is all this here? In the Dark?”

Nikolaj cocks his head, stepping closer. “Because I wanted it.” Patrik raises his eyebrows, waiting for more explanation. “The Dark doesn’t work like the mortal world does. It’s kind of alive.” He presses into Patrik’s side, shifts his bare feet on the plush rug. “And it takes care of its own, y’know?”

A grin spreads over Patrik’s face. He turns to face Nikolaj, slipping both hands down his narrow waist to rest at his hips. “Is that why the bed’s so big?”

Frost sparkles along Nikolaj’s cheekbones as he grins. “Want to find out?”

Much, much later, Patrik leaves Nikolaj dazed and sprawled over the bed and heads back into the cold with the axe, his bow, and a quiver of arrows. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and he shoots a couple of rabbits through the eye, collecting their bodies and skinning them quickly and efficiently. Then he chops himself some wood from a tree branch without much snow or frost, hoping it’s not too wet to burn.

His fingers and toes are numb by the time he heads back to the cabin. He slips inside quietly, eyes sweeping over Nikolaj’s body where he’s napping on the bed. Patrik takes a moment to admire the length of his legs, pale against the bedsheets. It’s hard to tell without light, but Patrik’s pretty sure they’re the blanket he gave Nikolaj is there amongst the rest of the sheets.

“Cute,” he murmurs to himself. Nikolaj stirs but doesn’t wake.

It’s surprisingly easy to start a fire. Despite the lingering frost the wood catches fire immediately, burning and crackling in the hearth. It blazes to life, slowly flooding warmth back into Patrik’s frigid body.

Nikolaj makes a short, quiet noise behind him. Patrik glances over his shoulder to see Nikolaj perched on the edge of the bed, feathers slightly flared. Firelight reflects silver and white in his wide eyes, casting eerie shadows on the dramatic angles of his face as he stares into the flames. There’s a barely-there tremor to his shoulders.

Patrik turns so the fire’s at his back. “Why are you so scared of fire?”

For a long moment, Nikolaj doesn’t say anything. Just stares beyond Patrik’s shoulder, arms curling even tighter around his knees. “It’s—” He shakes his head, short and sharp. “It’s the only thing that can kill me.”

Panic floods up the back of Patrik’s throat. “What? I thought—”

“It’s the only thing that can kill all of us.” Nikolaj shakes his head. “Of course we’d keep that from you.”

“All of you?” Patrik’s eyes widen. “The entire Dark?”

Nikolaj nods. He looks very small in the light of the fire.

Slowly, Patrik pushes up to his feet. He pads on socked feet over to the bed, stepping into Nikolaj’s space. Nikolaj’s so light; it’s easy to grab him and half-haul, half-toss him further up the bed, pushing him onto his back and following him down. Patrik presses a kiss to the cool skin of Nikolaj’s neck as Nikolaj’s arms wrap around his shoulders, his trembling even more obvious against Patrik’s body.

“It’s okay,” Patrik whispers into Nikolaj’s throat. “It’s okay.”

Nikolaj arches, rubs their cheeks together. “I don’t like it being here. In the Dark. It’s not supposed to be here.”

Patrik smiles. “Neither am I.”

He holds Nikolaj until he stops trembling, and a little longer. Then he climbs off the bed, grabbing his makeshift brace of skinned rabbits and sticking them on thin metal spits to roast over the fire. Halfway through he feels Nikolaj’s hands spread on his shoulders, Nikolaj’s cold nose pressing to the nape of his neck.

“Is that all you got?” Teeth scrape over the top of Patrik’s spine, light and teasing. “You’re kind of a shit hunter. I could find much better prey.”

Patrik doesn’t mention that this is Nikolaj’s domain, and he can venture a lot further and see a lot better than Patrik can. Instead, he just smiles, prodding at the fire with a poker, mindful not to let too many sparks flare up. “Yeah, but don’t you like it better this way? Me hunting for you and bringing it back to you?”

Nikolaj squeaks. He rubs his cheek against Patrik’s shoulder, ice melting against Patrik’s shirt and soaking through. “Yeah, I—I guess so.”

They eat together in front of the fire, Nikolaj eyeing the flames warily. Then Nikolaj climbs into Patrik’s lap and kisses the taste of overcooked rabbit off his tongue. Together they tip over until Patrik’s back lands hard on the floor, Nikolaj’s wings flailing wildly for balance, and when Patrik gets a hand around both of them and strokes them Nikolaj moans and laughs into his mouth. Afterwards they climb into bed together; Patrik on his side and Nikolaj curled against his back, a big black wing draped over him like a blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrik says quietly. “For everything.”

Nikolaj’s arm loops around him and splays over Patrik’s heart. “I forgive you.” He smiles against Patrik’s spine, nipping at Patrik’s skin with sharp teeth. “You’re gonna have to do a lot to make it up to me.”

Patrik smiles. “Whatever it takes.”

It takes only seconds for Patrik to fall asleep.

His dreams are vague and soft and warm, filled with feathers and perfectly symmetrical snowflakes and the soft light of dawn filtering through the trees.

When they wake, Nikolaj leads him back out of the Dark. Sunrise fades into view sooner than Patrik expected. Sooner than he wanted.

“I’ll come back when I can,” Patrik says, running his hands through Nikolaj’s soft, frost-tipped hair. “As soon as possible. Okay?”

Nikolaj doesn’t say anything. Just just tugs Patrik into a wild, desperate kiss—then shoves him away. “You should go,” he says raggedly, “or I’m not gonna let you leave at all.” His eyes are bright, his clawed hands curling in the sheer fabric of his cloak.

They part ways. Patrik finds himself a fox and a mink to bring back from his hunting trip; not that great, but without a horse he can’t hunt anything bigger. Maybe next time he’ll bring his horse, ride her into the Dark so he has more to show for his trip when he comes back to the castle.

Next time. Fuck, he already can’t wait.

* * *

Patrik always knows he’s on the right track when he feels the eyes of the ravens on him.

He slips off his saddle, taking his horse’s reins and tying her to the lowest branch sturdy enough to hold her. Then he steps away, following the trail of the ravens lining the trees, all peering at him and fluttering their wings and making soft croaking noises from behind their closed beaks.

“Niky?” He glances around, watching for movement, listening for any hint of Nikolaj’s approach. Nothing. “I brought you something—“

A shadow flashes through the trees and crashes into him and they both go tumbling to the ground. Patrik’s back lands hard in the soft layer of snow and he wheezes, gasping down air to catch his breath, cold snow already clinging to his hair. He’s still struggling to breathe when Nikolaj sits up properly, dark wings flaring out behind him to catch the glint of starlight flickering through the trees.

“Got you,” Nikolaj laughs, eyes bright and wild.

Patrik chuckles. “Got me.”

With a flutter of his wings Nikolaj’s up on his feet, hopping just out of Patrik’s reach. His body’s tensed, almost vibrating with excitement, wings trembling where they’re flared around him. “Get up,” he chirps, head cocking as he watches Patrik prop himself up on his elbows. 

It’s a game Patrik knows well at this point. They’ve been playing it for almost two months now, on the one or two nights a week Patrik can sneak away from his responsibilities. He climbs slowly to his feet, heart already racing with adrenaline. There’s only a small distance between them, but Patrik knows just how quickly Nikolaj can move if he wants to.

They stare at each other a second longer, predator and prey with the roles all mixed up. A shiver flutters through Nikolaj’s wings.

Patrik pounces at him. He barely gets a hand on him before Nikolaj’s jumping back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Too slow.” A grin curls over his face, sharp teeth bared threateningly. “Gonna need to be faster if you wanna catch me.”

He scrambles further into the trees and Patrik runs after him, already grinning so hard his face hurts. Every time he gets close Nikolaj hop-flies away, dancing out of Patrik’s reach with a laugh, slipping out of his grasp when Patrik manages to get a hold of him. Sometimes he ducks close, tugs at Patrik’s cloak or his hair—then jumps away, cackling, before Patrik can grab him properly.

Patrik’s only half expecting it when Nikolaj turns it around and jumps on him, and he doesn’t manage to brace for it. They go tumbling to the ground, Nikolaj twisting his wings and spinning them on the way down. He lands on his back, wings splayed out behind him, wheezing out a laugh when Patrik lands clumsily on top of him.

“You’re so bad at this,” Nikolaj snickers, the points of his canines visible as he tips his head back and laughs.

Patrik stares at him, overwhelmed, before leaning down to bite playfully at the pale expanse of his throat. Nikolaj’s giggle breaks into a moan. “I’m bad at it because it’s _your_ game,” Patrik says, in between nipping at Nikolaj’s jaw. “When we swordfight, who wins?”

Nikolaj wriggles, claws digging into Patrik’s biceps as he bares his throat even more. “Swords are stupid,” he mumbles, “My claws are better.”

Laughing, Patrik bites his chin one last time before pushing himself up. His eyes trace over the lines of Nikolaj’s face, sharp angles frosted with white ice, eyes silvery blue when he opens them and meets Patrik’s gaze. “I brought you something,” Patrik says, swallowing a laugh when Nikolaj’s eyes light up and his feathers flare against the pristine white snow.

“Show me.”

Patrik sits up, careful not to kneel on Nikolaj’s feathers as he pulls him into a sitting position too. He slips a gloved hand into the inner pocket of his coat, curls it around the gift he brought, suddenly flustered. It just—means a lot. He doesn’t know if Nikolaj will know how much. For a second he considers pulling back, but Nikolaj’s curious to a fault and obnoxious when he wants something. So Patrik breathes in and tugs out the gift, holding it between them in his open palm.

Nikolaj’s eyes flash. His head cocks, a twitchy birdlike motion as he stares at the gift in the centre of Patrik’s palm. A silver ring, intricately carved and inset with a smooth, pale opal, on a thin leather cord with a silver clasp. The cord was Patrik’s addition; he didn’t know how the ring would sit on Nikolaj’s fingers, and. Well. It’s easier to pretend it’s anything but what it _really_ is, if he doesn’t put it on Nikolaj’s hand.

“It’s beautiful,” Nikolaj says quietly, still staring at the ring, head moving as he takes it in from every angle. Finally, his eyes drag up to Patrik’s face. “It’s for me?”

Patrik nods. He takes the cord, delicately bringing it up around Nikolaj’s neck, pinching the clasp together at the nape of his neck. The ring sits at the hollow of his throat, the opal sparkling almost as pretty as the thin layer of frost spreading over his shoulders.

Nikolaj’s hand comes up, fingertips brushing the ring. He flushes white. “This is. Um.”

Maybe he does understand the significance. Heat climbs up Patrik’s cheeks, an unsteady, squirmy feeling curling in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah.” He smooths a thumb over the stone of the ring, fingers curling around the junction of Nikolaj’s neck and shoulder. “It belonged to my mother.”

“What?” Nikolaj grabs his hand almost painfully tight. “Patrik—”

Patrik kisses him, face burning. It’s messy, their teeth knocking together, and Nikolaj squeaks, wings fluttering noisily. A second later, though, he melts into the kiss, tipping his head to make the angle even better.

“It’s yours now,” Patrik says when the kiss breaks. 

Nikolaj rubs their cheeks together, a croaky rumbling echoing from his chest that almost sounds like a purr. “Thank you.”

Later that night, Patrik dreams.

His dreams are confusing and vague, rapidly shifting from one location to the next, a whirling mess of sensory feedback. Patrik runs, slow like his legs are dragging through water—then he’s in a flooded throne room, the water thigh-deep and murky, and there’s something hidden below the choppy black surface.

When he reaches beneath the water, it pulls him under.

Patrik gasps, and finds himself able to breathe. He’s on his hands and knees, drenched and shaking, and when he looks up he’s on the floor of his and Nikolaj’s cabin. Nikolaj’s on the edge of the bed, wings folded delicately behind him.

“_Did you forget?_” Nikolaj says, his voice echoing. “_Did you forget?_”

A sad smile slips over his face, and he crumbles into ash. Flames flicker outside the window of the cabin. Bright golds and vicious reds, reaching in through the glass and licking at Patrik’s skin.

Patrik wakes with a gasp, sitting upright so fast his head swims. It knocks Nikolaj’s wing off and a second later Nikolaj murmurs sleepily, claws pawing gently at Patrik’s bare hip.

“Go back to sleep,” Patrik manages. He drags a hand over his face, palm coming away slick with sweat and—and tears. His entire body is clammy, sweat-drenched skin cooling quickly in the bitter chill of the cabin now that the fire has mostly died.

Fuck. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in—in years, really. The prophetic dreams don’t count.

“Patrik?” Blearily, Nikolaj sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face. He blinks at Patrik, eyes dark and silvery in the dim light. Then his eyes sharpen, and Patrik feels uncomfortably _seen_ as Nikolaj reaches up to gently brush the tips of his claws against Patrik’s jaw. “What happened? You okay?”

He nearly says it’s nothing. But . . . “Nightmare.”

Nikolaj’s eyes widen. “_That_ kind of nightmare?”

Shaking his head, Patrik stares at the embers of the fireplace. “No, just. A nightmare.” 

But the nightmare—and the mention of the prophetic dreams, the reason for them in the first place—has sprouted a thought in Patrik’s mind. He’s known all along Nikolaj’s an omen of death and destruction, of something terrible coming that will leave a pile of corpses for Nikolaj and his ravens to feast on.

So what happens when that comes to pass?

“Nikolaj . . .” he starts, hesitating. “You’re an omen.”

Patrik doesn’t realize he’s gripping the blanket in his lap until Nikolaj’s hand covers his, careful of his claws. “Yeah?” From the corner of his eye, Patrik can see the concern scrunching Nikolaj’s features. “You knew that.”

“What happens when the thing you’re foretelling . . . happens?” Finally, Patrik forces himself to meet Nikolaj’s gaze. “When you’re not an omen of anything anymore?”

A moment passes, and the sharp angles of Nikolaj’s face soften as he looks up at Patrik. “That’s kind of up to me. I’m not like you; it’s not birth-life-death, with no deviation from that pattern.” He shrugs, wings shifting awkwardly where they’re bent against the bed. “Either I disappear and fade away into the dark,” and Patrik’s heart leaps into his throat, “or I . . . don’t.”

That should be the end, but Patrik’s head is swimming with questions he doesn’t know the answers to. He imagines Nikolaj slipping back into the darkness, waking somewhere halfway across the world to warn of impending doom, all memories of Patrik wiped clean for a fresh iteration of the Valravn to start anew. “And if there’s another imminent disaster? Somewhere else needs the Valravn to be an omen?”

Nikolaj’s head tips to the side, and he leans closer. “I think I’ll feel a pull, or something.” He squeezes Patrik’s hand. “I’m not bound by it. I’m an omen, but I’m a creature of magic, too.”

Oh.

Patrik breathes out a sigh of relief, the tension finally bleeding out of his shoulders, melting away from his spine. He slumps, leaning against the strength of Nikolaj’s shoulder. “So I’m not going to lose you.”

With a bit of fumbling, Nikolaj pushes the covers down around his ankles. He climbs into Patrik’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs, wings folded against his back and tickling the skin of Patrik’s legs. “You’re never going to lose me,” he promises, suddenly so sure and ancient, eyes blazing bright blue. Patrik feels the power of his words all the way down to the soles of his feet. 

He swallows. “Nikolaj.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

Apparently Nikolaj does. He reaches up between them, curling a hand around the ring resting in the hollow of his collarbones. “I’m yours,” he says, and the words hit Patrik like lightning, “forever.”

Patrik hauls him into a kiss, and they don’t sleep again that night.

* * *

Winter continues, the nights growing colder and the skies growing cloudier as spring seems to stretch further away, and Patrik visits Nikolaj as often as he can. Not as often as he would like, especially as cold temperatures and failing crop stores in the outer villages keep him busy figuring out how to keep all his people fed and clothed and warm. Not to mention training with the knights, which doesn’t wait for warm temperatures, and all the time spent with his father trying to puzzle out what to do about the kingdom to the south.

Once, Patrik doesn’t visit Nikolaj for two weeks. When he finally travels into the dark the ravens all scream at him, diving just to tug at his cloak and swarm him obnoxiously.

Then Nikolaj shows up and tackles Patrik to the ground, and Patrik only kind of feels he deserves the handful of bitter snow to the face. It’s not his fault his people need him.

“Never again,” Nikolaj snaps, before wrapping his arms around Patrik’s neck and ducking down to tuck his face into Patrik’s neck. “I missed you.”

Patrik tries very hard not to go more than a week between visits after that.

Sometimes, they spend all their time at the cabin, in bed or in front of the fireplace or watching the snow drift lazily and endlessly outside the window. Patrik grooms Nikolaj’s wings, lets his fingers trail elsewhere just to see what else will make Nikolaj shiver. Most things, it turns out, and Patrik takes advantage of that at every opportunity.

Sometimes, Nikolaj takes his hand and leads him through the Dark. He shows Patrik a perfectly circular lake, the water’s surface as smooth as a mirror and nearly as black as the night. He brings Patrik to a wide open field blanketed with sparkling snow, where the starry sky above flickers with ribbons of light, turquoise and pale orange. He guides Patrik through a maze of black stone spires, reaching up into the sky like claws.

Whenever Patrik asks where they all came from, Nikolaj has no real answer. “They belonged to someone once,” he says, frost spreading from his fingertips as he brushes them over a stone spire. “Now they’re just echoes. Now they belong to the Dark, I think.”

“I didn’t know the Dark had things like this.”

“Like what?”

Patrik’s embarrassed admitting it. “Beautiful.” Although that’s not quite true; he knew there were beautiful things in the Dark the first time he saw Nikolaj’s face.

Luckily, Nikolaj doesn’t seem offended. He just tips his head back, staring up at the sky, both hands splayed wide on one of the spires. “You all used to appreciate it too,” he says quietly, his voice carrying in the unnatural silence. “But you don’t like anything you can’t control, and some magic just isn’t supposed to be understood by humans.”

Slowly, Patrik drags a hand up Nikolaj’s back, burying his fingers in the short feathers at the base of Nikolaj’s wings. “It’s incredible.”

Nikolaj smiles shyly. “It’s home,” he says, and Patrik—

Patrik is starting to agree with him.

Sometimes he feels like he’s neglecting his real life; as though the life he shares with Nikolaj, hidden away in a private cabin in the Dark, is a dream he’s bound to wake up from eventually. And part of Patrik knows it is. Knows he’ll be king someday, expected to marry and bear children to be his heirs, expected to devote everything he has to the kingdom and the people.

Patrik loves his people. But he loves Nikolaj too.

He’s pretty sure his father hasn’t noticed. Pinja, though, has always been more perceptive, and she watches Patrik with careful blue eyes over their infrequent family dinners. She doesn’t say anything, but Patrik always stares at his plate and ignores the weight of her unasked questions.

Those nights, he usually doesn’t go see Nikolaj. Instead he just lays in bed and wonders why he always feels so much guiltier about leaving Nikolaj alone than he does about sneaking away from his duties.

A full day after an awkward, subdued dinner with his father and Pinja, Patrik heads into the Dark to see Nikolaj again.

He’s starting to get better at Nikolaj’s favourite game of cat and mouse. Nikolaj always gets him first—he’s completely silent and all but undetectable until he wants to be noticed—and knocks them both back into a thick layer of snow. Usually he kisses Patrik, sometimes he doesn’t. Then he flutters his wings and hops away, jittery with excess energy and barely containing his smile.

This time, he jumps off in the middle of a kiss. Patrik glares at him from the ground, propped up on one elbow, chest heaving to catch his breath.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Nikolaj taunts, teeth bared in a grin.

Patrik climbs to his feet. He stares at Nikolaj, the tension between them sparking.

Nikolaj grins even wider and sprints away.

But Patrik knows his patterns, and he’s starting to understand how to Dark opens to Nikolaj. He purposefully nearly grabs Nikolaj, fingertips just grazing his feathers, faking a stumble. Nikolaj dances away, giggling—and that’s when Patrik pounces. He gets both arms around Nikolaj’s waist and they fall in a tangled mess of limbs. Patrik lands on top, elbow digging into Nikolaj’s wing. 

Of course, it only lasts a second before Nikolaj rolls him off and tosses him into the snow, but Patrik’s counting it as a point for himself anyway.

Patrik scrambles to his feet, ready to chase Nikolaj again, blood pounding in his ears. But Nikolaj’s still sprawled in the snow, wings and arms spread. He looks . . . happy. Relaxed and bright and beaming, eyes crinkling as he catches Patrik’s eye. 

“Got you,” Patrik pants, stalking closer.

Nikolaj squirms, wings rustling in the snow. “That doesn’t count.”

“It definitely counts.”

Shaking his head, Nikolaj wriggles even further into the snow, burrowing a place for himself and flexing his wings. There’s a playful glint in his eye when he lazily reaches up, slender fingers beckoning. Patrik takes the offer. He grabs Nikolaj’s hand, not at all surprised when Nikolaj tugs him down on top. Patrik arranges himself with their legs tangled together and one arm braced above Nikolaj’s head, other hand lacing carelessly with Nikolaj’s.

“It doesn’t,” Nikolaj says smugly. “If I throw you off, that’s not you catching me.”

Instead of arguing, Patrik kisses him. He’s found it’s a really effective way of shutting Nikolaj up.

Then the ravens start rustling, his horse starts nickering softly, and Patrik hears a faint but unmistakeable sound of snow crunching beneath someone’s feet. He stops, pulling up despite Nikolaj’s whine as he tries to place the sound. It’s . . . coming from the direction _Patrik_ came from. 

He’s on his feet in seconds, holding out a hand for Nikolaj. Nikolaj takes it and Patrik hauls him to his feet easily, eyes locked on the darkness looming beyond the trees. The moon hasn’t quite disappeared yet but the trees are thick here, and Patrik can barely see even his horse.

“Get behind me,” he says under his breath, tugging at Nikolaj’s hand.

Nikolaj doesn’t move. “Why?” Finally Patrik looks away from the woods, and Nikolaj’s staring at him with a fierce glare. “I can protect you better—“

“It’s not coming from the Dark,” Patrik hisses back. “It’s one of my people.” In this situation, he’s the best protection possible. Nobody would risk hurting their prince, even to attack a creature from the Dark.

Eyes widening, Nikolaj placidly steps into place behind Patrik, clawed hands curling in the fabric of his cloak.

Patrik breathes out a bit of tension. He watches the treeline, wishing he had his sword—but it’s strapped to his horse’s saddle, too far away to grab without leaving himself and Nikolaj vulnerable. Instead he stands tall, composing his features into the perfect mask of a prince.

Then Pinja steps out from between the trees.

All of Patrik’s preparedness disappears in a rush and suddenly he’s off-balance, trying to find his footing as he stares at Pinja, completely frozen. Pinja stares back, eyes wide. Her gaze slides from Patrik’s face to something beside him, beyond him—

“Pate,” she says, voice wavering, “what have you done?”

“Pinni—”

“Pate,” she says again, sharper. There’s fear in her voice, in the trembling line of her body. “You—you need to come home right now.” The ravens shift in the trees above, branches creaking and feathers rustling, and Pinja glances up and tenses. “It isn’t safe here.” She glances behind Patrik again, lips pressing into a thin line. “Come home.”

_I already am_, Patrik thinks.

Instead, he raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s okay.” He can’t quite conjure up a smile, but he offers Pinja the most honest and open look he can. “I’m okay, Pinni, I’m safe.” Swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat, he glances over his shoulder, catching Nikolaj’s eerily silver eyes. When he looks back at Pinja, she’s staring at them both with growing horror. “With . . . with Nikolaj.”

Pinja’s eyes widen. “It’s—it’s not your friend, Patrik!”

Nikolaj’s grip tightens in Patrik’s cloak. “He’s not a monster,” Patrik urges slowly. “His name is Nikolaj.”

“Did you let it out?” Pinja shakes her head, blonde curls spilling out from her fur-lined hood. “Patrik, you _know_ how dangerous it is—”

“_He_.”

Pinja blinks at him, mouth hanging open. “What?”

Patrik’s surprised how quick and bright the anger is, burning under his skin. “Don’t talk about him like that,” he snaps, indignant anger bleeding into his tone. “He’s a person, Pinja. He’s a man.” Behind him, Nikolaj rubs his cheek against Patrik’s back, between his shoulder blades, quietly appreciative.

“I don’t understand.” Pinja shakes her head again, eyes roving over Patrik like she’s searching for something wrong with him. “What are you _doing_?”

He can lie to his father. Surprisingly easily, really. But Patrik’s never been good at lying to Pinja, and he’s never liked to; she’s too perceptive, too shrewd, and he always feels guilty keeping things from her. And something this big . . . now she’s seen the truth, and Patrik can’t let her walk away without knowing the whole story. So he breathes in deep, meeting Pinja’s gaze head-on. “I love him.”

Pinja stares at him. There’s terror in her eyes. “No you don’t,” she whispers. “You don’t.”

“I do.” Patrik reaches blindly behind him, and seconds later Nikolaj’s hand slips into his. “Please let me explain. Trust me. Please.”

Slowly, Pinja drags in a deep breath. “Patrik . . .”

Patrik squeezes Nikolaj’s hand. “He’s not a monster.” He breathes in deep, settling the rising anxiety whirling in his chest. “None of the Dark is what we think.” He thinks of all the beautiful things he’s seen in the Dark; all the equally dangerous creatures Nikolaj’s shown him from a distance. “It’s just . . . magic. It’s not evil.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?” Pinja shakes her head. “Magic _is_ evil, Pate!”

Patrik feels Nikolaj’s forehead pressed against his spine, Nikolaj’s hand gripping at his shoulder. His other hand holds Patrik’s painfully tight, claws nearly pressing through the leather of Patrik’s gloves. 

“She’s like you were,” Nikolaj murmurs. “She’s not gonna listen.”

“I listened.”

Nikolaj pinches Patrik’s shoulder. “Yeah, because you had no choice.” He steps away from Patrik’s back, tucks himself against Patrik’s arm instead, looking up at him through his lashes. “Patrik, if she’s gonna tell your father—“

“You can talk.”

Both of them look in Pinja’s direction at the soft sound of her voice. “Yeah, I can talk,” Nikolaj says, watching Pinja with a guarded look on his face. Patrik wants almost desperately to wrap him up, hide him from anyone who’d ever treat him poorly. Including his own sister.

Pinja frowns. “You sound so . . .”

“Human?” Nikolaj steps forward, still with a painfully tight grip on Patrik’s hand. “I’m not, but I’m also not a monster. Not the way you think, at least.”

For a long moment, Pinja’s silent. Her gaze sweeps over Nikolaj’s face, eyes wide and wary. Then her eyes drop to his chest. Patrik digs his fingers into Nikolaj’s hand instinctively. “Is that . . . ?” She lifts the skirt of her coat and steps forward. “Patrik, is that Mother’s ring?”

Patrik flushes despite himself. “Um. Yes.”

Pinja gapes at him. “You were supposed to give that to your future queen!”

Nikolaj barks out a startled laugh, high-pitched and loud, and the ravens overhead join in. He’s grinning wild and bright when he turns to Patrik, wings shifting where they’re folded against his back. “Well I’m obviously not a queen,” he snickers, claws scoring shallow lines over the leather of Patrik’s glove. “You gave it to the wrong person.”

Ignoring his own blush, Patrik fixes Nikolaj with an unimpressed glare. “You’d make a pretty enough queen, with those wings.”

White frost blooms on Nikolaj’s cheeks, just like every other time Patrik’s called him pretty. “Shut up.”

“Both of you, stop it!”

“Pinni—“

She glares at him, eyes bright and . . . hurt. Patrik’s heart twists. “I don’t want to hear it, Patrik.” Then she whirls around, storming back in the direction she came from, long coat flaring out behind her.

Fuck. Patrik tugs Nikolaj closer; Nikolaj stumbles a bit, steadying himself with a hand on Patrik’s shoulder. “I have to follow her,” Patrik tells him, rubbing his thumb over the back of Nikolaj’s hand. “I’ll come back soon.”

Nikolaj’s mouth twists in a scowl, his eyes big and silvery in the faded moonlight. He rips his hand out of Patrik’s grasp—then wraps both arms around Patrik’s neck and hauls him into a biting kiss. Patrik’s hands find his waist immediately and the kiss goes on longer than it probably should before Nikolaj’s pulling back with a bitten-off gasp. “Don’t take too long,” he orders sullenly. The effect is kind of ruined by his pout.

Patrik grins at him. “Just don’t make your ravens attack me next time.”

“No promises.”

He kisses Nikolaj once more, short and sweet. Then he unties his horse’s reins from the tree branch and follows the path where Pinja disappeared. She’s not far ahead, stomping through the snow with her arms wrapped around her body, and Patrik falls into place beside her easily. A buzzing silence settles between them.

“How could you give it Mother’s ring?”

Patrik frowns. “He’s not an ‘it’.”

“Fine!” Pinja stomps ahead, whirling around in front of Patrik, Her eyes are fierce, her cheeks bright red from the cold. “How could you give _him_ Mother’s ring?”

Patrik swallows. He still doesn’t have a good answer for that, not one he knows how to say. Especially not one Pinja will like. “I wanted to,” he says eventually, wincing at how stupid it sounds. “I wanted him to have it.”

“It’s a marriage ring!” Pinja shakes her head. “Not something you just give out to a—a monster.”

“Maybe I _would_ marry Nikolaj if I could,” Patrik snaps.

Pinja’s eyes go wide. “You _mean_ that.”

Patrik swallows, ignoring the blush burning his face. It’s out in the open now. Might as well keep being honest, while he’s at it. “Yeah.” He shrugs at Pinja’s piercing, pressing stare. “Would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”

“You—“ Her mouth snaps shut, eyes big and blue and completely bewildered. “How am I supposed to react to this?”

That’s a good question. If Pinja’d gone and fallen in love with a creature from the Dark, Patrik would have tried to kill it already. “I don’t know,” Patrik says honestly, “but don’t tell anyone, please.”

Pinja watches him carefully for a moment. Then she nods, and half of Patrik’s tension bleeds out in a sigh of relief. “I’ll keep it a secret.” Her eyes narrow. “_If_ you tell me everything.”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, Pinja turns around the starts walking, and Patrik falls into step beside her again. Their walk is quiet and eerie, moonlight flickering through the swaying trees. So much of Patrik wants to turn around and walk back into the Dark.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Pinja murmurs into the quiet.

Patrik swallows. He hopes so too.

* * *

Spring is slow to come, like it always is. The days grow longer and brighter, and the winter storms turn into mellow snowfall. Warming temperatures bring a whole new host of problems for the kingdom to deal with—animals waking from hibernation and bandits getting brave again—and Patrik kind of feels like he’s being pulled in every direction at once.

Sometimes, Patrik imagines that he’s a normal man without the weight of a kingdom hanging over his shoulders and an entire destiny charted for him already. The kind of man who’d meet someone, fall in love, and bring them home to meet his family. In his imagination he’d marry Nikolaj in spring in a tiny outdoor ceremony and they’d live together in a cabin in the woods. Maybe Patrik would be a hunter, or maybe they both would be, and they’d have one of those tough but simple lives of the people in the outer villages.

Instead, Patrik holds Pinja’s shaking hand and leads her further into the Dark under the watchful eye of Nikolaj’s ravens. He introduces her to Nikolaj properly, shows her the little cabin where they spend their time. They all eat together, a couple rabbits Patrik shot, and there’s a strange expression on Pinja’s face when Nikolaj briefly rubs his cheek against Patrik’s in thanks.

When they walk back out of the Dark, Pinja turns to him and quietly, seriously says, “I think I understand a little better now.”

Patrik visits Nikolaj as often as possible, just so he can exist somewhere he’s _not_ expected to solve every problem and mend anything that’s been broken. It’s nice, only having a responsibility to one person for once in his life. 

“You’ve never seen spring, have you?” Patrik asks one day, while they’re laying naked and sweaty in the rumpled bedsheets. He’s threaded his fingers into Nikolaj’s feathers, gently scratching at them.

Nikolaj lifts his head from Patrik’s chest. “No,” he says drowsily. “_This_ me hasn’t, at least.”

Patrik trails a fingertip up the damp skin over his spine, tracing the sharp groove of each vertebrae, grinning when Nikolaj shivers. “There are some things I should show you, when the snow melts.” The waterfall that spills into the East River and creates swirling rapids in the spring flood; that field of flowers containing the only vague memories of Patrik’s mother that he has. 

A low hum rumbles in Nikolaj’s chest. He stretches against Patrik’s body, sweat-slick skin slipping against Patrik’s, wings flexing until the very tips brush the ceiling. “Looking forward to it.”

Patrik tries not to think too far into the future. It’s fun making plans for the things he and Nikolaj are going to do as the snow melts. He likes imagining what Nikolaj’s wings might look like in bright sunlight, what new colours might shine out from the black. But anything beyond that—anything beyond the stolen moments with Nikolaj that kind of exist out of time—makes his head hurt and his chest tight.

Maybe they’ll figure it out. Patrik doesn’t know how, but . . . sometimes he stares at the hollow of Nikolaj’s pale throat, where the ring sits, and he _wants_.

The thing about being a prince is that he’s not used to wanting something he can’t have.

* * *

Patrik wakes one morning in early spring to a hazy orange light filtering through his window and a faint, distant roaring rumbling in his ears. He blinks blearily and groans into his pillow, throwing an arm over his face to keep the light out, but the roaring echoes and rolls around in his skull.

A growl catches in the back of Patrik’s throat as he slowly pushes himself up. His eyes are blurry, his limbs heavy with sleep as he swings his legs off the bed. He stands, only teetering a little before stumbling his way to his window, grabbing half-blindly for the curtains and tugging at them to pull them closed—

Then he stops. His eyes adjust a little. 

Beyond the window, the sky is nearly glowing gold, soft and hazy like a sunrise filtering through thick clouds. Except it isn’t clouds—it’s smoke, filling the sky and making it difficult to see too far into the distance. Not difficult enough that Patrik can’t see beyond the city’s walls.

He sees farmlands, still dusted with snow. He sees the expanse of black and green pines stretching out over the landscape. And beyond _that_, he sees acres of darker, deeper fores, all alight with a sea of flickering red and orange and gold. The woods are burning. The _Dark_ is burning.

Oh, God. _Nikolaj_.

Panic climbs up the back of Patrik’s throat like nausea, curls sharp claws into his heart. He shoves away from the window, grabbing his boots and stuffing them onto his feet as he stumbles across the room. His heart’s hammering as he tugs on a cloak, not even caring that he’s wearing nothing but thin sleepclothes. He just—he needs to get to Nikolaj. Because if the Dark is on fire—

No. He can’t—he can’t think that. He _can’t_.

He can barely breathe by the time he rushes out of the castle and into the chaos of the main courtyard. Everyone’s so occupied with their own shit they don’t even look at him, and Patrik’s grateful—because nobody stops him as he shoves through the crowd, heading for the southern gate out of the city.

The second he’s out of the worst of the throng he breaks into a sprint, feet pounding on the cobbled stone streets. He runs until he sees the gate, unmanned by guards, and his heart leaps up into his throat when he passes through and sees the distant flicker of flames over the tops of the trees.

It shouldn’t be possible. The trees should still be wet with snow, too wet to burn—

But the forest isn’t burning. The Dark is. And Patrik knows just how easily wood from the Dark catches fire.

Patrik doesn’t even consider his own safety before sprinting headlong into the forest.

The sound’s so much louder this close; a rushing, deafening roar, punctuated with the distant echo of fire crackling and wood popping as it burns. Patrik remembers that feeling from his dreams—fire licking under his skin and charring his bones—and barely gives it a thought before pushing his aching legs even harder. He doesn’t fucking _care_.

As Patrik runs, the sky changes. Darkens from pale gold to a deep, violent red. The air tastes like acrid woodsmoke, clouding Patrik’s already burning lungs, and he can’t tell if it’s snow or ash drifting to the ground around him.

“_NIKOLAJ_!” he shouts, voice ragged. “Nikolaj, where are you?”

A horrific scream rings through the forest and Patrik skids to a stop, snow spraying up around his feet. Another scream echoes the first, then another, and another—dozens, of them, from the direction of the Dark.

Then, all at once, the screaming stops.

“Fuck—_NIKOLAJ_?” Patrik starts running again, not even caring that he can barely breathe, that he’s starting to feel the heat of the fire. 

Then he notices the dark shapes in the snow, smoldering like embers leftover in a fireplace.

Ravens.

Fuck. No, no, that’s not—they’re not—

But they _are_. Dozens of still-burning ravens, hundreds the further Patrik goes—they’re all fucking _dead_.

Tears sting Patrik’s eyes, from the heat or from—from what that might mean. He doesn’t know. He stumbles further into the Dark as his vision blurs, the path in front of him turning into nothing but the black of the trees and the white of the snow and, distantly, the approaching glow of the fire.

“Nikolaj,” he calls, voice cracking. It’s starting to feel hopeless—if Nikolaj’s ravens are all dead—

“_Patrik_?” It’s faint, distant.

“Nikolaj!” Patrik scrubs his tears away, searching for Nikolaj. “Niky, I’m here, I—” Smoke clouds his lungs and he coughs, doubling over as he hacks up a lung. When he looks back up, he can finally see the flickering edges of the fire through the trees. 

Then Nikolaj falls from the sky, landing in a crumpled heap in the snow. His pale skin is covered in soot and smeared black blood, his wings patchy and—actually _smoldering_ in some places, like they caught fire and he didn’t quite manage to put it out. 

Patrik rushes for him. “Niky,” he breathes, “c’mon, get up—we have to move.”

Nikolaj lets Patrik pull him to his feet, stumbling when Patrik immediately laces their hands together and starts pulling him back in the direction of the castle. “Patrik—you shouldn’t—”

“Shut up. Come on.” 

The fire’s almost deafening behind them. Patrik tugs Nikolaj even faster, breaking into a run when a tree cracks like thunder behind them. All he can think about is getting out, getting Nikolaj to safety—

Then Nikolaj stops moving and Patrik stumbles, arm wrenching behind him. He whirls around to see Nikolaj staring at something on the ground, eyes wide, expression crumbling. “What . . . ? No, no . . .” He trails off, shaking his head, and Patrik realizes he’s looking at the scattered corpses of the ravens. “No, please . . .” Nikolaj’s voice wavers, breaks.

Patrik tugs his hand. “Niky, we need to _go_.”

Nikolaj shakes his head. His other hand reaches out for the ravens. “I can’t—I can’t leave them—”

Fuck. It’s taking too long. Patrik gives up trying to pull him, instead marching up into Nikolaj’s space. He grabs Nikolaj’s arms. “We have to _go_.” He wrestles Nikolaj into moving, and Nikolaj struggles, eyes locked on the ravens. “Nikolaj—”

“No—_don’t_—”

Patrik’s got no other choice. He tugs Nikolaj away, hauling him into his arms by the waist. Nikolaj’s struggling, shoving at Patrik’s grip, _screaming_ in his ear. Patrik ignores it and just holds on as he starts pulling Nikolaj away from the ravens. “Stop it, _stop it_,” Patrik snarls, sweat dripping down his back. “Leave them, we have to _move_!”

Nikolaj screams, raw and inhuman, claws piercing Patrik’s skin. Then he goes limp in Patrik’s arms. Moments later he’s shoving away and standing on his own, hand finding Patrik’s before they both break into a sprint.

The sky fades back into hazy daylight as they leave the Dark. Patrik’s not taking chances, though; he runs through the burn in his legs and the sharp ache in his lungs until they’ve broken out of the treeline, pulling Nikolaj away from the forest. They stumble over the snow-dusted fields together, gripping at each other’s arms, and they don’t stop until they’re well beyond the reach of the fire.

He clutches at Nikolaj’s shoulders, leans in to see his face. “Niky?” His own voice is raspy, throat burning from all the smoke. “Niky, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Nikolaj lifts his head slowly. He blinks up at Patrik, eyes bright blue in the hazy golden light. The sharp angles of his face seem too soft, the edges crumbling. “Patrik?” Shaking, he turns away from Patrik, face slack as he stares at the forest. From this distance, all they can see of the burning Dark is the massive cloud of smoke, and the distant flames reaching up into the sky.

Patrik thinks of their cabin. Of all the places they explored together. “Nikolaj,” he chokes out, running a hesitant hand over Nikolaj’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh,” Nikolaj says, and something in his eyes shatters. “_Oh_.” His legs give out and suddenly he crumples to his knees, tears spilling over his cheeks. He’s breathing too fast, too sharp, clutching at his chest like each breath hurts. “It’s . . . It’s all . . .”

Patrik follows him down, collapsing on his ass in the snow. His whole body’s aching, his lungs burning each time he breathes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Nikolaj’s silent. Still. Then he clambers into Patrik’s lap, tucks his head under Patrik’s chin, and _wails_.

It’s the single most heartbreaking sound Patrik has ever heard. Unnatural and animalistic, high-pitched and earth-shattering—but so devastatingly human it rips through Patrik’s chest like it came from his own lungs. Nikolaj’s fingers curl into the fabric of Patrik’s shirt, body curling into Patrik’s like he’s trying to disappear. Then the dam breaks and Nikolaj starts sobbing, his entire body shaking violently in Patrik’s arms, frozen tears soaking through the thin fabric of Patrik’s shirt.

Patrik feels powerless, useless. He curls a hand around the nape of Nikolaj’s neck, the other splaying on his lower back, rubbing soothingly at his skin. “I’m here,” he murmurs against the crown of Nikolaj’s head, tasting soot on his lips. “I’m here.” 

There’s nothing more he can do.

Eventually Nikolaj’s sobbing quiets, and he silently burrows further into Patrik’s chest and trembles so violently it’s hard to hold him. Patrik draws him in even tighter and says nothing. Anything he could say would be meaningless.

“It’s gone,” Nikolaj chokes. “It’s—it’s all gone. I can’t even _feel_ it—“ His voice breaks, and he tucks his face into Patrik’s neck, slick and cold with frozen tears.

Patrik kisses his hair, and swallows down the lump at the back of his throat.

“Patrik, I . . .” Nikolaj shudders. “I think that’s what I was an omen for.”

Death and destruction. A massacre. Patrik was thinking war, a bloodbath of human bodies, ravens picking through the scraps of what was left. But apparently this is what Patrik was dreaming of; sitting here helpless and hopeless, covered in soot, trying to hold Nikolaj together while his home burns to ash beyond the forest.

“I’m sorry,” Patrik says again. “What—what are we going to do now?”

He hates asking, but they’re in the middle of a field, too close to the walls of the city. Anyone could see. And now that Nikolaj doesn’t have the Dark to hide in, Patrik doesn’t know what to do. 

Nikolaj’s trembling stops all at once. He lifts his head, meeting Patrik’s eyes with a ferocity that knocks the air from Patrik’s lungs. His eyes are nearly glowing, white-frosted lashes framing the vivid blue. Soot and black blood are still smudged on his skin and in his hair, but his jaw is set, wings filling out and flaring behind him. The angry burns on his skin and wings have mended over and disappeared.

“I know who did this,” Nikolaj says, his voice an unearthly rumble. A shiver runs up Patrik’s spine. “I’ll be back.”

His wings flap once and he stands, slipping out of Patrik’s arms easily. Then, before Patrik can do anything—before Patrik can even _say_ anything—Nikolaj leaps into the air and disappears in a blur of black.

Patrik scrambles to his feet, trying to see Nikolaj over the trees, but he’s already gone. 

The reality of the situation hits Patrik squarely in the chest. He turns back towards the city, staring wide-eyed at the towers of the castle rising above the wall. They were right out in the open, and anyone could have seen their prince holding a creature from the Dark like something precious.

Well, Nikolaj _is_ precious to him. But not many people would understand that.

Patrik dusts the worst of the soot off his clothes and heads back into the city proper. The chaos seems to have calmed since he passed through the first time; everyone’s realized the fire probably won’t spread through the forest, with the wood still so wet. Still, the castle’s main courtyard is busy, with townsfolk and knights alike. 

Patrik catches sight of his father, talking with a couple of his personal guard, and Pinja, speaking with a father and his child. Nobody seems to be paying any attention to Patrik, let alone the fact that he’s covered in ash and just came in from outside.

He strides up to Pinja, nudging her arm with his. “What’s happening.”

Pinja stares up at him, mouth pressing into a line as she takes in his appearance. “The farmers are going to stay inside the walls,” she says, “until the fire has died down. Just in case it starts spreading.” She leans closer, and Patrik ducks down to her level. “Pate, where were _you_? Don’t tell me you went in there!”

“I had to.”

“You could have died!”

Patrik shakes his head. He’s had that thought several times over in the past few minutes and each time he comes to the same conclusion. “I had to,” he says again. “I couldn’t—I wasn’t gonna leave him.”

“You _idiot_.” With a huff, Pinja bumps against his side, resting her head against his shoulder for a brief moment. “You’re lucky you didn’t get killed.”

After a brief conversation with his father, Patrik heads back up to his room with his manservant to get dressed properly. What he’s trying to figure out is what Nikolaj meant by _I know who did this_—implying someone actually started the fire, and it wasn’t a freak accident. He’s still thinking about it when he returns to the courtyard, dressed and armed, the soot washed off his face and shaken out of his hair.

They’ve handled the people living in and around the city—but there’s still dozens of outlying villages who could have been more affected. Messages are already being sent out, to see if anyone needs help. 

All Patrik can think about is where Nikolaj went and when he’s coming _back_.

* * *

It’s evening, Patrik eating dinner with his father and Pinja while they try and figure out what to do, when someone comes storming into their dining room. A guard, wide-eyed and panting. “Outside,” he gasps, leaning against the doorframe, “there’s—there’s a beast from the Dark—”

Patrik’s out of his seat so fast it falls behind him, clattering noisily to the stone floor. He sprints past the guard, nearly skidding around the corner as he heads for the stairs. His heart’s pounding—there’s only one beast it could _be_, and Patrik doesn’t know what’s happening, whether Nikolaj’s in any danger. 

He practically stumbles out of the castle and onto the steps leading down into the courtyard. Then he sees what’s going on, and freezes.

Nikolaj’s standing tall at the foot of the stairs, wings flared dramatically. He’s beautiful, and terrible; his feathers are gleaming with ice, his head held high, and if Patrik didn’t know better he’d think Nikolaj was every deadly monster he was ever told horror stories about. Everyone’s staring at him in horror, obviously thinking the same thing.

Ice-blue eyes land on Patrik, sharp as a dagger, carving under his skin. Nikolaj cocks his head, and tosses forward the man struggling fruitlessly against his strength.

The man lands hard on the stairs, his gasp ringing over the silent courtyard. When he lifts his head, Patrik recognizes him, from vague memories of sitting in on grown-up meetings when he was just a little kid. It’s the king from the south.

“Here’s your firestarter,” Nikolaj calls, his voice carrying easily. He . . . doesn’t quite sound like the Nikolaj Patrik’s used to. He sounds ancient and powerful, speaking from some place Patrik hasn’t seen in months. “He got rid of your best defence so he could invade and take your kingdom by force.” Suddenly Patrik realizes why Nikolaj’s voice sounds so strange. He’s looking at Patrik, but he’s speaking to all of them.

The king looks terrified, glancing between Patrik and Nikolaj. He’s also not saying anything, maybe too frightened to speak. Good. Patrik’s already having enough trouble parsing Nikolaj’s words without having some king blabbering at him.

Slowly, Nikolaj’s wings ruffle and he folds them against his back. “Do whatever you want with him,” he says. His lip curls, pointed teeth flashing in the hazy light. “Whatever human justice he deserves, give it to him.” His head tips dangerously, predatorily. For a second, Patrik sees the hint of something familiar in Nikolaj’s eyes. “This is a peace offering.”

Oh. _That’s_ why he’s doing this. Offering compliance, trying to make himself less of an immediate threat.

It strikes Patrik that Nikolaj could have just disappeared. He’s impossibly fast, and there are plenty of forests around where he could make himself a home. But he came back—he’s doing _this_—because Patrik is here.

Patrik feels the pull of Nikolaj’s power like a magnet. He steps forward, opening his mouth to say something, though whether it’s as the crown prince or just as Patrik he’s not sure.

Before he can, an arrow strikes Nikolaj in the heart.

Nikolaj jerks, stumbling forward as his legs waver beneath him. He grasps at his own chest uselessly, fumbling at the shaft of the arrow, eyes still locked on Patrik’s. Fear blooms on his face.

“Nikolaj—” Patrik makes it down two steps before another arrow hits. This one pierces Nikolaj’s throat and Patrik watches with sick horror as he chokes up black blood. It spills over his lips and his legs finally cave, wings falling limp to the ground as he collapses to his knees. 

Patrik almost falls in his rush down the rest of the steps. He gets his hands on Nikolaj’s narrow shoulders, propping him up as he lists forward. There’s black blood spilling from his throat every time he breathes, leaking out of the corners of his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Patrik murmurs, trying to swallow down the panic in his voice. “It’s okay, I—”

“Careful, Patrik.” Patrik’s father’s voice rings through the air, calm and clear. Patrik freezes, hands skittering over Nikolaj’s bare shoulders, grip loosening. “It may not be subdued yet.”

Patrik glances over his shoulder to see his father, standing at the top of the stairs with a few of the knights surrounding him. One of the knights is holding a bow and a handful of pure iron arrows, carefully watching. That’s when Patrik realizes exactly how precarious this situation is. Exactly how much trouble Nikolaj’s in.

He gently releases Nikolaj, settling him into place so hopefully he won’t fall. Then he turns, facing his father, his body a solid wall between Nikolaj and the knights.

“Look,” Patrik calls, his voice much stronger and steadier than it feels. He gestures at the enemy king, still sprawled on the stairs, meeting his father’s eyes. “He brought him as a peace offering. To tell us he’s not against us.” It’s dangerous, the way he lifts his chin a little challengingly, staring his father down. “We don’t need to attack him.”

“Him?” Patrik father shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Patrik, but that’s not a man.”

_He is_, Patrik wants to stay. The words catch in his throat. “He _helped_ us.”

His father snorts, completely dismissive. “I’m not pretending to know what game it’s playing, but beasts don’t _help_. It’s magic; it’s not going to do anything unless it’s for its own gain, and certainly not without a price.” His gaze sharpens and Patrik wants to shrink beneath it, but he stands strong. “But since you apparently have a soft spot for it, you can choose; either we imprison it,” his lip curls, “or we burn it, like the rest of the Dark.”

Patrik’s heart thuds loud and wet in his ears. Nikolaj’s never going to be able to exist here as a free man, that much is becoming startlingly clear. And if it’s between imprisonment or being burned . . . 

Patrik knows the choice he has to make. And really, it’s not much of a choice at all.

Any panic, any sincerity he was carrying; it all bleeds out as he straightens. Back straight, head up, face appropriately commanding and free of emotion. Princes have to make the hard decisions, and they have to make sacrifices for the good of their people. No matter how they feel.

Patrik’s always been good at this part.

“Then throw it back in the dungeon,” he says, and steps aside to let the knights at Nikolaj’s crumpled body.

When they haul Nikolaj up the steps, Patrik turns away.

* * *

Patrik’s room is cold and lonely that night, as he stands by the window and watches the distant flicker of red and gold flames burning through the Dark. Idly he wonders how long it’ll take for the entire Dark to burn; from what he knows it’s endless from within, but bound by a border of forest in the real world. Honestly he doesn’t entirely understand it, but he’s pretty sure humans aren’t really _supposed_ to understand it.

Not that it matters. All that is gone, now.

Exhaustion hit Patrik’s body hours ago, the second Nikolaj was out of his sight. He’d gone up to his bedroom then, sat on the edge of his bed and imagined them collaring Nikolaj again, locking him up in that dirty hole beneath the castle. 

He hadn’t even tried to sleep, and he’s not trying now. Now, he’s waiting.

It’s well past midnight when Patrik finally leaves his room, with his sword on his belt and the keys he’d stolen from his father all those months ago tucked into his pocket. He barely even cares about being seen, just marches down to the dungeons with a hand on his sword and his jaw set.

Patrik approaches the guard posted outside the dungeon with his sword drawn, holding at the man’s throat. “Back up,” he orders, voice hard as the man stares at him. Frustration almost makes his arm shake when the man just blinks at him. “Back _up_,” he snarls, and this time it seems to get the message across. The man nods, backing away from the point of Patrik’s sword, and he obediently hands over his ring of keys and lets Patrik lock him in a cell.

Patrik doesn’t give him a second glance before whirling around and heading for the iron door at the far end of the dungeons.

Then he stops. Turns.

The enemy king is sitting in one of the furthest cells, staring at Patrik from the darkness. There’s still fear lingering around his eyes, and with his clothes covered in grime and stained with smoke he looks about as far from a king as a man can get.

A cold white rage settles over Patrik like a blanket of snow. “You set the Dark on fire.”

The king says nothing.

Patrik stalks closer, sword hanging loose and deadly at his side. “You destroyed the entire fucking Dark. You killed _everything_.” His hand shakes. But he doesn’t have the time, and he can’t do it knowing the political consequences. They took him prisoner for a reason. So he glares, imagining what it’d be like to slice the man’s head clean off his body. “You’re _lucky_. Remember that.”

It takes a full breath before Patrik can make himself walk away.

The iron door creaks as he swings it open, slamming against the stone wall with the force of Patrik’s push. He grabs a torch and takes the stairs two at a time, only thinking about getting to Nikolaj, seeing Nikolaj and making sure he’s okay. Everytime he tries to think about Nikolaj he just thinks about him with his wings smoldering, or black blood spilling from his mouth.

Then he steps out of the stairwell and sees Nikolaj sitting with his back to the wall of his cell and it’s—

It’s so much worse.

The arrows are gone, and the wounds are closed. Nikolaj still has black blood smeared over his pale skin; all around his mouth, on his naked chest, in the hollow of his throat. His bare throat, not marked by the ring Patrik gave him.

But it’s his face that’s the worst. His lashes are practically white with frozen tears, his cheeks stained with a thick layer of frost. The blue of his eyes seems eerily, unnaturally bright in the flickering firelight, reflecting silvery-white when the flames dance just right. And the way he’s looking at Patrik, sharp with fear and pain, bright with sheer hatred, sends a shock of empathic pain straight to Patrik’s core.

“So this is what you wanted.” Nikolaj’s voice is impossibly low, rough and ragged around the edges. It shakes with something too delicate to be fury.

Patrik shakes his head. “I—”

“At least you have easy access now, right?” Patrik’s almost expecting a laugh, but Nikolaj gives him nothing but a furious glare and violently trembling wings. “That’s what matters to humans, that you get to keep what _belongs_ to you?”

Oh, fuck. Nikolaj doesn’t _know_.

Patrik steps forward on legs that are suddenly barely strong enough to support his weight. “No, Nikolaj—I’m sorry.” He steps closer, chest aching as Nikolaj glares up at him. “I’m sorry.” The bars are completely frozen when Patrik wraps a hand around them, barely feeling the stinging of the ice on his palm. “It was the only thing I could think of.” 

Nikolaj cocks his head. “Of course it was.”

“No, I—” Patrik fishes the keys out of his pocket almost desperately. He needs Nikolaj to understand. “I didn’t mean it like _that_.”

When he unlocks the cell door and swings it open, no realization passes over Nikolaj’s face. Instead his expression cracks, slowly melting into horror, as he glances between Patrik’s feet and his face. Patrik doesn’t understand until he steps forward, and—

“_DON’T COME NEAR ME_!” Nikolaj screams, baring his teeth. Dark, desperate fear blazes in his eyes and he kicks at the ground, scrambling even further back against the wall.

Patrik’s eyes widen. “Niky—”

“Don’t—_don’t_,” Nikolaj spits. He snarls at Patrik like a wild animal, pointed teeth glinting in firelight. “Don’t you dare fucking _touch_ me!”

Oh. Patrik knows what he’s so afraid of. It cuts deeper than anything else, that he’s made Nikolaj fear _him_.

Patrik’s legs give out. He lowers himself clumsily to one knee, breathing painfully hard. “Nikolaj,” he grinds out, staring at the ground near Nikolaj’s feet. Trying to make himself less intimidating, so Nikolaj will stop gasping down air like a drowning man. “I’m here to get you out. Okay?”

A deafening silence settles between them. Patrik’s pretty sure neither of them are breathing.

“What?” Nikolaj’s voice is small, hesitant. Patrik finally looks up.

Nikolaj looks completely shattered. “I’m getting you out,” Patrik says again, as soft as he can manage. “We’re leaving. We’ll find somewhere that doesn’t hate magic, somewhere safe for you.” Places like that exist, he thinks. They have to. “Nobody’s gonna hunt you down or do anything like this ever again.”

Tears glimmer on Nikolaj’s lashes as he blinks. “What . . .” He swallows, throat bobbing. A delicate tremor runs through his entire body. “What about you?”

“I’m going with you.” Patrik crawls closer, close enough to touch. “Together, Nikolaj.”

“But you—” Nikolaj shakes his head sharply. “You have your kingdom, your people—”

Patrik grabs Nikolaj’s hands without even thinking about it. Nikolaj stares at him wide-eyed, hands shaking in Patrik’s grasp, wings shaking against the wall. Patrik’s heart is in his throat when he squeezes and whispers, “I don’t want any of it without you.”

Saying it cracks something fragile inside him. He blinks around the tears suddenly burning in his eyes, head bowing forward. He can’t face Nikolaj feeling so weak. Trembling, he brings Nikolaj’s hands up to his mouth, presses a clumsy kiss against his knuckles in a strange imitation of an innocent courting gesture.

“I want to be with you,” he manages through the lump in his throat. “If I’m picking between my kingdom and you—it’s _you_.”

Nikolaj chokes, and suddenly Patrik has an armful of bony limbs and fluffy, feathered wings. He hauls Nikolaj in even closer, burying his face in Nikolaj’s hair to stifle his tears, holding Nikolaj tight while he sobs into Patrik’s throat.

“I thought—” Nikolaj nuzzles in even closer. “I thought I was gonna be stuck down here—”

“Never,” Patrik says. “I’m not doing that to you again.”

They hold each other a while longer, but they can’t stay there forever. Eventually they separate and Patrik unlocks the collar around Nikolaj’s neck, tugging it off a bit forcefully, tossing it across the cell. It hits the wall with a noisy clatter but Patrik ignores it, brushing a thumb over the black smear dried to Nikolaj’s throat. He traces the hollow between his collarbones, sharp and obvious in the firelight.

“Did they take your ring?”

White sparkles on the tips of Nikolaj’s ears. He shakes his head, glancing to the corner where Patrik threw the collar. “S’over there. I . . . I thought. Y’know.”

Legs aching and sore, Patrik stands. He finds the necklace on the floor, the leather strip coated in dirt. The ring is still pristine, and Patrik returns to Nikolaj and leans over him again, carefully clasping the necklace back around his throat.

Then he offers both hands. Nikolaj slips their palms together, and Patrik pulls him easily to his feet.

They walk back up to the dungeons proper with their fingers laced together, Patrik’s other hand on the hilt of his sword. He tugs Nikolaj past the enemy king, past the guard he locked in a cell, up the stairs leading out of the dungeons. This time he barely cares about being caught. He’s ready to defend Nikolaj’s freedom with his life, if he needs to. Together they climb up to the nearest parapets. When they step outside the air is cool and smoky, tasting like dry ash on Patrik’s tongue as he heaves in a long, deep breath. To the south, the Dark still burns.

Nikolaj stares at it, his eyes huge and dark in the night. “It’s all dead,” he murmurs.

Patrik squeezes his hand. “You’re not,” he says. “You’re still here.”

The angles of Nikolaj’s face soften. He reaches up towards his throat, claws clinking against the gleaming, iridescent opal of the ring Patrik gave him. “Forever,” he says, wings trembling. “I swear, Patrik, forever. Or as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” Patrik agrees. He flicks a glance around them; the parapets are momentarily empty, but he knows guards will be nearby soon, looking for any sign of danger. Especially after the events of the day. This intimate, private atmosphere can only last for so long. So Patrik rests his gaze on Nikolaj again, sweeping his thumb over the tendons on the back of Nikolaj’s hand. “Fly into the east forest. Past the river. Wait for me in the trees, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

He steps close, ducks his head to press their foreheads together. His deep, slow breath in tastes like pine trees and fresh snow and the nebulous, shadowy scent he’s never been able to place as anything but uniquely _Nikolaj_. 

Pointed claws press into the delicate skin at the nape of Patrik’s neck as Nikolaj cups the back of his head and drags him down even further. His mouth tastes as familiar and wild as he always does, lips soft against Patrik’s. “Okay,” Nikolaj says, lips brushing Patrik’s mouth. “I . . . I’ll see you soon.”

Then he steps away from Patrik, climbs onto the battlements, and flies off into the hazy grey night.

Patrik watches until he disappears.

Then he returns to his room. He already did most of his preparation in the in-between, while he had nothing else to do but wait. He’s got bags packed with supplies—food, clothing, tools. A canvas tent and thick sleeping roll. Anything he might need until they make it to the next village.

First, though. He leaves all that at the foot of his bed, next to his chainmail and winter clothing, and silently slips out of his room.

Pinja opens her door a full minute after Patrik knocks. Her curls are wild and messy, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy as she blinks up at Patrik. “Pate?” She yawns, slumping against the doorframe. “It’s so late. What’s wrong?”

Patrik’s heart clenches. He swallows.

Then he sweeps Pinja into a hug. “Bye, Pinni,” he says, and he can’t manage anything more than that.

Pinja hugs back drowsily, patting Patrik’s back gently and nestling her head against his shoulder. He wonders how awake she is; whether she’ll even remember this as anything more than a dream tomorrow. It’s better this way, he’s pretty sure. If she’s too tired to understand what he means by goodbye, then she’s too tired to try and convince him to stay. And Patrik couldn’t handle that, because—

Because he loves her so, so much. And he knows the answer would be no.

She’s still half asleep when Patrik surreptitiously scrubs any wayward tears off his face and pulls back. “Go back to sleep,” he chides, trying to keep his voice light. “Long day. You need it.”

Pinja pats his shoulder. “You do too.” Then she slinks back into bed, snoring softly as soon as she’s burrowed under the blankets. 

Patrik closes the door behind her. He leans against it, palms flat on the wooden door, breathing hard and harsh through his nose. “Goodbye, Pinni,” he says again, squeezing his eyelids tightly shut as tears prickle at the backs of his eyes. “Be a good queen.” _Be better than I would’ve been as king_.

He heads back to his room, giving it all one last glance as he figures out how to carry all his shit in one trip. It’s home, but . . . it’s lonely, without Nikolaj.

Patrik leaves and doesn’t look back.

He knows the castle halls better than almost anyone, so it’s easy to take the less-travelled hallways and staircases and avoid encountering anyone on his way down to the stables. He sneaks past guards and into the stables, careful not to wake the stable boys who sleep under thick blankets on piles of hay in the furthest stalls. 

His favourite horse nickers softly when he approaches. Patrik saddles her and loads her saddlebags with all his supplies, patting her flank in thanks as she stands silent and patient.

When he takes her reins and leads her out of the stables and into the hazy, scattered moonlight, Patrik feels leagues away from his own body, his consciousness floating somewhere far, far above. It’s not uncomfortable but it’s off-putting, like his entire life has been offset a footstep to the left. It’s also making him a little bit breathless.

Patrik shakes his head. Blinks away the tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. Then he climbs onto his horse’s saddle, and starts a quick trot through the city.

It doesn’t take long to reach the eastern gate. He takes smaller, narrower side streets, and with the hood of his cloak up anyone who sees him from a distance will just see a tall, broad stranger. Something about that is especially strange. Patrik feels completely fucking alone, and he doesn’t even hate it, he just—

He’s starting to be something he’s never been, and he doesn't know _how_.

Beyond the eastern gate out of the city is the vast East River, its edges still covered with clinging ice even this far out of winter. The waters are choppy and black, a dull roaring in the otherwise silent night. Only one way across for hours in either direction; the huge stone bridge built directly from the road leading out of the city.

The guards at the gate don’t look too closely when he passes by. Patrik rides through in silence, head hanging low. His shoulders ache from holding himself so small. That’s not something he’s used to.

Across the bridge. Into the forest. Off the stone path and onto well-packed dirt, still dusted with snow.

Patrik hops off the saddle and takes his horse’s reins again. No sense tiring her out.

He walks down the silent, empty road, searching the trees for any sign of movement, and hint of Nikolaj’s presence. For a while, all he sees is the sway of the wind and the long, lonely stretch of road in front of him, illuminated by soft, dim light.

He’s . . . alone.

Oh.

Patrik’s heart lodges itself in his throat. “Fuck,” he chokes, tears spilling over his cheeks, breath catching on a hiccuping sob. This is it. He’s leaving his family behind.

The sound of feathers fluttering fills Patrik’s ears as Nikolaj lands softly in front of him. Fuck, and now Nikolaj’s gonna see him. Patrik shuts his eyes, stopping dead in the middle of the road, chin trembling as he tries to control himself.

“Patrik,” Nikolaj says. His fingertips brush Patrik’s jaw. “You’re crying.”

“I know.”

Nikolaj makes a tiny, wounded sound. “Patrik—”

“Don’t.” It hurts, even getting that word out.

“_Patrik_.” Almost on instinct, Patrik’s eyes snap open. He regrets it immediately. Nikolaj’s close, too close, head tilted up as he gazes into Patrik’s eyes. There’s a soft, fragile sadness to his face that feels too _real_, like Patrik’s seeing a reflection of himself. “Please,” Nikolaj whispers, and his fingers sweep the wetness off Patrik’s cheeks. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

_Fuck_. “Niky,” Patrik manages, before the sob finally breaks loose from his chest. He falls into Nikolaj, wrapping his arms around Nikolaj’s shoulders and burying his face in Nikolaj’s neck, breath hitching into another sob when Nikolaj’s arms fold around his waist and tug him in even closer.

Patrik burrows into Nikolaj and, for maybe the first time in his life, lets himself cry in earnest.

He cries until he’s hollow, exhaustion settling all the way to the marrow of his bones. Only then does he pull back and stand up a little straighter, arms still draped around Nikolaj’s strong, narrow shoulders. They have to get moving, after all. Can’t just stand in the middle of the road all day, waiting for someone to happen on them.

“We should get moving,” Patrik says quietly, his voice wrecked.

Nikolaj nods. His arms slip from around Patrik’s waist, and he watches as Patrik mounts the saddle. Then with a simple flap of his wings he’s settling into place behind Patrik. It’s a little like all the times they’ve slept in the same bed; Nikolaj’s arms wrapped around his waist, Nikolaj’s nose pressed to his spine.

Patrik takes comfort in that familiarity. He may be leaving everything else behind, but he has Nikolaj, for as long as forever lasts.

**Author's Note:**

> alt title: Almost 40K Words Of Me Being Extra Over Corvids  
alt alt title: How Many Times Can I Make Nikolaj Cry In One Fic? The Answer Will Shock You!
> 
> thank you for reading this labour of love 💙
> 
> [tumblr](http://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/) // [twitter](http://twitter.com/softeldritch)


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